Her Safe Harbor - A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: Kayla MacIntosh had been the best of friends with Tom Hiddleston for years now, but when he comes back from filming in Toronto, things take a turn for the erotic in their relationship that both of them wanted but neither expected. Lovingly dominant, caretaking Tom.
1. Chapter 1

**TRIGGER WARNING** : Mention of the rape of Daenerys by Khal Drogo in _Game of Thrones_ (Chapter II). References (not really very detailed) to physical, emotional, psychological abuse of the OFC by an ex. Some emotional angst for OFC because of it.

Fluffy romance, romancy fluff (and floof - because I gave him his REAL hair) for the first couple of chapters. Then smut/erotica/spanking/soft core porn ensues - but romancy porn, hopefully. :)

Also, when I started this, I didn't know that Tom had already seen Game of Thrones. This is sort of set when he gets home from filming Crimson Peak, but I gave him blonde curls because that's what I pictured.

Kayla MacIntosh looked down at her iPhone immediately when she heard that particular personalized text tone - the first few bars of the chorus from _Bear Necessities_ , sung by the man himself.

 _G.o.T Season 1. My place. This Sunday - 7PM-ish?_

Sweet lime, my honey pie! What's going on in that big, gorgeous brain of F yours? In the mood to waste some time, are we?

 _Time spent with you is never a waste._

Oh FFS, Tom, you can't possibly say shit like that to me - stop being so fucking nice! How the fuck am I supposed to reply to that kind of shit?

 _. . . with something lyrical and poetic?_

BIG, GROSS SNORT How's that for lyrical and poetic, you little shit?

 _Well?_

I'm thinking . . . do I have time to spend with one of my bestest friends, whom I haven't seen in a dog's age because he's been fucking working and looking glamorous in period costume and, much worse, has been hugging OTHER PEOPLE, who are, you know, NOT ME, and he didn't take me with him, either, the selfish fuck.

Let me see what's on my schedule. I don't know if I can squeeze you in (ehe he he he). You know what a whirlwind my social life is . . . I suppose I can move that dinner with the PM and tell Wills and Kate to fuck off . . .

 _Again? They'll deport you._

snicker Whaddya want for dinner - I'll cook?

 _. . . perk . . . Really?_

Why do I even bother to axe? Lemme guess. Macaroni and cheese?

 _Right the first time!_

Fucker. You are so damned predictable. Sigh. Fine. Damned good thing I love you.

 _You do? You could have said THAT instead of "BIG, GROSS SNORT", you know._

Nowhere near as fun. Say buh-bye, Thomas.

 _Buh-bye, Thomas._

Lub you.

 _Lub you, too!_

He wasn't home when she got there, but she had a key and let herself in, carrying her crap for an overnight stay - which hadn't been confirmed, but which she wanted to be prepared for just in case, since that's what these things usually turned into, especially if they drank. He'd end up not being able to take her home, and he didn't like the idea of tucking her into a cab, either - his protective tendencies were definitely at the forefront with her. She dropped her stuff by the door when she shed her shoes, which Thomas preferred in his place, putting them on the pretty mat he had there for just that purpose. Then she put the heavy bags of groceries on his kitchen counters.

Not long after she got her favorite playlist going on his bluetooth speakers, to which she would cook, she heard the key in the lock and he came in, drenched in sweat from his run and still panting, and looking sexier than any man had a right to, especially in that condition. She would bet that disgustingly in shape fucker had taken the stairs again - all six flights of them. In direct contrast, if she had come into the building and found that the elevator wasn't working, she'd've turned around and gone home immediately. Fuck him - unless, of course, he agreed to carry her up all those stairs in his arms . . .

Which she wouldn't put at all past the annoyingly chivalrous bastard.

The first thing he said to her after all those months apart - minus the fast and furious emails, the texts containing pictures of silly things like what the top of Jim Beaver's balding head looked like (Jim had been sitting at the time and she was pretty sure was oblivious to the fact that Tom was even taking that picture) or whatever disgustingly healthy crap he was eating, and the more than occasional, raucous Skype session - was typical Tom. He'd noticed the groceries, still in bags on the counter, and frowned. "I'm sorry you had to drag those all the way up here. I would have brought them up for you."

As much as his touching politeness and courtesy usually grabbed her heart in its fist and squeezed painfully, Kayla barely heard what he said. She was having a hard time not just launching herself at him, but she fought with herself to squelch the impulse. Best friends did not throw themselves at each other, and that's what they were. She would have to keep repeating that to herself tonight, she knew, or she was going to do something deeply stupid that was going to get her expelled from his life entirely, she was sure, like fall to her knees and rip his pants - and underwear, if he was wearing any - off to take him into her mouth -

Or worse. Knowing her, the only reason she'd sink to her knees in front of him in that kind of situation was because she'd passed out from nerves.

Tom tilted his head at her, surprised she was still over there. Kayla was staring at him as if she desperately wanted to come to him, but was somewhat repelled by him, too, at the same time.

Then he remembered that he was awash in his own sweat - no wonder she was hanging back.

"I'm so sorry, love. Just give me five minutes to take a shower and then I want a huge hug, okay?"

But somewhere during his little apology for having the audacity to have become sweaty while he was running lord knew how far or how fast, she lost her battle to stay put.

It wasn't _quite_ throwing herself at him, but it was too uncomfortably damned close for her conscience.

As she moved towards him, her arms open and walking into his immediately welcoming ones, she mumbled, "Puh-leeze. You're Tom Hiddleston. Your sweat smells like freshly baked bread and candy floss."

That got him laughing, which was what she was going for, so that he wouldn't notice just how desperate she was to be hugged by him. She didn't care if he'd just rolled in a vat of bait someone had left out in the sun for a year; she needed him to hug her like she needed to take her next breath.

As those wonderfully strong arms closed around her and she was enveloped against him - deliberately taking a big breathful of his unique smell, which was comprised of the remnants of the Dior _Fahrenheit_ he'd probably put on this morning mixed with the clean, clear sunshine he always smelled of and pure, unadulterated man-scent. Her mind begged softly, helplessly, "Please kiss me, Thomas. Please just . . . kiss me once, like you mean it. I'll live on it for all the days of my life. I'll take it to my grave and die deliriously happy, really I will. I won't ask for anything more from you or anyone else, ever, ever, ever. I'll never accept any more birthday or Christmas presents from anyone, ever again. Please please please just one, _real_ kiss."

But she knew she had to resign herself to being happy with what she _could_ always count on from him - he was a marvelous friend, and she knew that was much more than she deserved in this lifetime, and that she should simply stomp out that tiny, whiny unsatisfied voice in favor of reveling in the fact that she could say that Tom Hiddleston was her friend (not that she ever said it to anyone, really, not being one to brag and not wanting to get into any awkward situations) - and that he'd actually not hesitate to say that of her, too. She had proof of this, because he'd introduced her that way to some of his other friends multiple times. So it wasn't a fluke.

 _And_ he hugged her. Frequently. Like, what was a lot even to her - not that she was complaining. But, as wonderful as they were, and they were fucking phenomenal, they were nonetheless almost carefully platonic.

She stepped back out of his embrace first. She always did, not wanting to seem . . . somehow greedy, she guessed. If he'd let her, she'd stay there all day, and the temptation was much too great to demand - or even just ask - so much more from him than he seemed interested in giving - to say nothing of the fact that she knew her bravado about what she wanted from him sexually was just that. If he ever did show any interest in her sexually (once she picked herself up off the floor), she'd probably turn and run miles away from him, certain that all of her old insecurities would put the kibosh to that very quickly.

Still, her heart - to say nothing of the rest of her - continued to long for him, for intimacies that she knew would render her what was certain to be a complete turn off to him - shy and hesitant and violently nervous. Regardless of what was sure to be the reality of the situation, she dreamt that he would be what her very soul knew he could be for her - the balm that would soothe away all the past hurts she'd suffered and make her whole for him, and him alone.

So Kayla swallowed down those rebellious feelings with some considerable difficulty and gave him a thousand watt smile that was only somewhat forced. He was still holding onto both of her hands, as if he was reluctant to let them go, but then he was a touchy-feely kind of guy. They often held hands when they walked together or he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm or looped his arm around her waist, and he encouraged her to be the same way with him.

But then, he was like that with _all_ of his friends, so how he was treating her didn't mean she was anything all that special to him, she forced herself to remember.

As a result of the fact that she could keep an iron control over herself, so far, anyway, they had an easy, open camaraderie together that practically had Kayla in tears a million times when she was with him, but so far she'd been able to keep herself from fangirling too badly around him, which was what she desperately wanted to do - among other things.

Then she heard what she thought was a whimper, something she'd never heard from him before. "Bloody fucking hell - you cut all your hair off!" he yelled accusingly, holding her arm up over her head and twirling her with practiced ease around in front of him as if she was a ballerina. "When did you do that and why didn't you tell me, you little shit?"

"This past Friday."

His hand came up to within inches of it - which had her holding her breath in anticipation of how her body was going to try to implode at his touch, as it always did - but then he took it down again, squeezing her hands and saying, as he dashed off in the direction of his bedroom, "Give me a few minutes to make myself more presentable. I want another hug when I'm more socially acceptable, and I'm going to touch that hair when I get back, too." He didn't bother to shut the door as he began shedding layers of clothing on his way, and Kayla forced herself to discreetly turn her head away and walk into the kitchen, from where she would no longer have a view of him stripping before he stepped into the shower.

Instead she had to envision what that might be like in her head, of course. Why did she have to be so god'am honorable? she wondered. How many other women would look away from that sight? Not very fucking many, she imagined. Hell, lots of them would have simply gone and joined him and offered to scrub that broad back of his!

But that would never be her. Those were women who were pretty and rail thin and self-confident about their looks as well as their talents in the bedroom, none of which she would never be able to claim, she knew. Sighing heavily, she gave herself an inward shake and began to assemble dinner - making a béchamel sauce and then adding tons of excellent white cheddar cheese, in which she drowned some very good pasta she'd bought just for the occasion, along with some panko breadcrumbs she drenched in garlic butter and piled high on top of the casserole, leaving it atop the stove until they were both hungry and she could throw it into the pre-heated oven.

She'd cleaned up the kitchen as she'd worked, and only had a pot and some utensils to rinse and put in his dishwasher, which she did, then wiped down the counters. She was just bending down to throw away crumbs in his garbage can, which he hid where everyone else in the world did in the cabinets below his kitchen sink, when, just before she rose back up, she felt someone deliver a tremendous swat to her behind.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Tom! That hurt!" Her hand automatically went to her butt to try to rub away some of the residual sting, but it didn't seem to be helping in the least, she was horrified to realize. It also didn't help that her jeans were holey places and practically worn through in the seat, so she'd had little protection against his smack.

This was new. He'd never touched her there in any way, much less spanked her. What had gotten into him, she wondered.

Kayla tried to turn around, but he'd pressed himself up against her back, so that her stomach was trapped against the counter in front of the sink, his fingers insinuating themselves greedily into her hair. "Is this a perm?" he asked.

"No, I, also, have naturally curly hair. You can tell if you sniff it. If I'd had a perm, I'd still be off gassing that horrible perm solution smell, even though I washed it when I got home and again this morning."

As if he wasn't going to take her word for it, she felt his nose burrow into her hair, both hearing and feeling him take a deep breath from just behind her left ear that had her closing her eyes tightly against the wave of desire that gripped her privates at his actions, stifling - just barely - the impulse to press her head back against his nose and those inquisitive fingers.

"Mmmmm. I don't know," he said, leaning back a bit but not yielding so much as an inch to her so that she might move away from him. "These are beautiful, but I'm not sure they're worth the trade off of losing all of that lovely length." He continued to run his hands through her hair. "But your curls are so soft! Mine are . . . not," he ended somewhat abruptly, swiveling his hips to the side just as suddenly without removing his hands from her scalp.

"Lemme introduce you to a brand new concept, Tom - it's called conditioner."

He frowned down at her. "I conditioned my hair when it was longer and curly and it never felt like this."

"I think my curls are looser than yours and that makes them softer," she responded almost curtly. Damn, she'd forgotten what it was like to have someone running his hands through her hair, especially when it was short and her scalp got nicely massaged. "Okay, that's enough or I'm going to fall asleep before we even get to the first episode."

She turned around and he - with no small amount of reluctance, removed his hands from her hair, although they fairly itched to dive back into that beautiful auburn riot. But he was going to be good. He was going to be restrained, he repeated to himself like a meditation chant, as if that could make it so. She wanted a friend - nothing more than that - and he was going to do his damnedest to be that for her. But his body had other - much more prurient - ideas, hence the swat he'd been entirely unable to stop himself from giving her.

That was part of why he'd moved so precipitously away from her, too - so that she wouldn't feel how incredibly hard he'd gotten just at the sight of her standing in his kitchen, washing up, as if they were together in the most intimate meaning of the word and she did wonderfully loving things like that for him all the time. And then, when he'd smelled her shampoo and those baby soft tendrils had clung to his fingers . . . it was very nearly all over for him. He was that much in lust - and damned close to love - with her. His body betrayed him all the time when she was with him - in big and small ways. He was amazed that she hadn't noticed yet, but then he knew she wasn't looking for that kind of reaction from him, he reminded himself.

Kayla was his friend, and she did do warm, intimate things for him like this, and they touched each other a lot but they were both tactile people and yet there was no physical relationship between them, much to his dismay. She had been in a disastrous relationship a while ago and he knew that she was still smarting from having been betrayed by her husband in the most elemental of ways, as well as downright abused by him in others. It was a damned good thing he was unlikely to ever encounter the bastard, or the Internet was going to have to change its opinion of him as the perfect gentleman because he'd gladly smash the bastard's teeth down his throat for hurting his - Kayla.

He'd kind of lost track of what she was saying while he was trying to give himself that pep talk, and all of a sudden all he could see was the way she was holding his right hand up but well away from her, by the wrist with two tentative fingers, as if it was something completely alien to her and couldn't be trusted not to bite.

" - What is this thing made of, anyway, for fuck's sake? Jesus, that swat _still_ hurts!"

"Good." His answer was automatic, and she gave him a thoroughly dirty look, but he just grinned unrepentantly.

Kayla made as if to leave, but he caught a hold of her wrist, saying, "I showered and made myself much more presentable. I want my other hug."

She gave him a look at his unusually demanding tone.

"Please," he added as an obvious - if earnest - afterthought. "Please may I have another hug?" He let go of her wrist and opened his arms to her for the second time in less than twenty minutes.

As if she would ever be able to resist that kind of invitation as long as there was breath in her body, the bastard! But she had remembered something she had wanted to bring from her place and went to fetch it while he waited somewhat less than patiently for her to come back, hands on his hips.

When he saw what it was, though, he laughed out loud, barely able to stifle it at her censorious look.

It was a small stepstool, not much bigger than the one a child might use to reach the potty or the bathroom sink. But it boosted her height just about perfectly, so that she was nearly eye level with him. "Much, much better," she sighed, wrapping her arms easily around his neck and again drowning in the scent and feel of him. "Now you don't have to bend your legs to hug me."

Tom had to chuckle. Leave it to her to notice something like that about him - which he did so automatically that he didn't even think about it - and come up with an innovative solution. It was kind of interesting to have her right there, rather than bending down, but, as he told her, "I don't mind bending my knees at all - especially not for you, my dear."

Her heart fluttered dangerously at his use of that endearment, but she ignored it in favor of the simple joy of being in his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder, if somewhat gingerly, as if she was afraid of enjoying it a lot too much. He gave the best fucking hugs in the universe - just the best, hands down. He didn't shy away from full frontal body contact, regardless of who he was hugging; he squeezed just the right amount for the perfect amount of time, usually rubbing his right hand up and down the person's back, near their right shoulder, two or three times, then releasing. And, even if you were the very lucky recipient of his hug, you knew, somehow, just knew, that he'd closed his eyes while he was hugging you - as you had, because he was just that damned trustworthy. You knew he wasn't going to cop a feel - even if you were a woman who was naked in his arms. He was just going to give you the kind of hug that was going to ruin every other hug you ever got for the rest of your life - unless it was from him again.

When he let her go, keeping steadying hands on her forearms, Kayla just stood there with her eyes closed for a long moment. "Mmmmm. That was amazing. Have you been practicing? Don't answer that," she said, letting him help her down from her lofty perch, then bending down to retrieve the stool.

Tom noticed that it was pink and white and princessy, just like he thought of her in his mind, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

"I _know_ you have been practicing, and on total strangers, per pictures on Twitter and Tomblr, etc. I am extremely jealous, I'll have you know."

Well, that was something, he supposed. "They're my fans. And they know I like to hug people."

She came back from putting the stool with her other crap by the door, which he immediately gathered up and brought into his spare room, where she stayed when she came over for a night like this, answering her question about whether or not she'd be staying overnight.

"How long till dinner?" he asked, returning to the kitchen.

"Any time your big heart desires, love. How about we watch some _Game of Thrones_ first?"

At that he bowed low to her - although he was dressed in a manner that, for him, was casual so the gesture didn't fit quite as well as it would have if he had been wearing one of his many suits or - even better - a tux. He was in his favorite cardigan with a tight white t-shirt beneath it that clung lovingly to every muscle he owned, and a pair of obscenely tight black jeans. He made a dramatic sweep of his hand towards the living room, where he had a plasma TV that was about the size of a movie screen on one wall, which she had laughed at when he'd first shown her, because he was never home to watch much of anything. But the huge TV was just one of the reasons why they did this kind of shit at _his_ place, not her tiny little cramped flat. "Shall we adjourn to the theatre, my lady?"

"Fuck yes," she said, making him chuckle as she put her hand on his arm and let him formally guide her to the big comfortable sofa that sat directly in front of the television.

But he didn't join her immediately. Instead, he danced attendance on her. "Would you like something from the bar?"

And he wasn't kidding about the bar. He had a fully stocked gorgeous one in the corner of the big room. "Are you?"

"Fuck yes." He didn't bat an eyelash.

She still had a hard time with filth coming out of that gorgeous mouth of his and in that lusciously posh accent, but she tried to stifle her giggle. "Yes, please."

"Tequila?" he asked, figuring he knew, and already headed for the bottle of Patron he kept on hand just for her.

"Nope - can I get a G & T instead? I brought limes and tonic water in case you didn't have any - and Beefeater . . . " She whispered the last, knowing he wasn't going to happy with her spending money on booze when he kept his bar fully stocked at all times.

"You bought gin, Kayla?"

A shiver went through her at his tone and she was glad he was across the room where he couldn't detect how her body betrayed her. "I did, because I wasn't sure whether you'd have it."

"That's bullshit. You know I have everything." Christ on crutches - _and_ he was giving her the look! She was going to need to fan herself shortly or she was going to faint dead away and that wouldn't do at all.

"Yeah, well, consider it a contribution towards getting me polluted in the future."

"Mmm-hmmmm."

Tom was not happy. He knew she was in country on a shoestring, and he didn't like her spending her money unnecessarily - and he considered a lot of things unnecessary when it came to her. It was pretty much the only bone of contention between them - that he kept trying to buy her things, to help her out financially, and Kayla would have absolutely none of it. Sometimes the grocery fairy had visited her house, providing not only staples he knew she used - like decaffeinated Coke Zero and frozen mixed vegetables - but also treats he knew she would never buy herself, liked double stuff Oreos, bagel chips, and Brie. The petrol fairy often struck her car, too, and she was very vocal about praising him to Tom, whoever he might be, of course. Consummate actor that he was, Tom played innocent very well.

When the various fairies began arriving, it was on the tip of her tongue to take him to task for it, but then she realized that she did cook a lot of meals for the two of them when he was home - at his request - so she guessed it wasn't all that bad for him to contribute towards her coffers for that reason, and - because she refused to drive his Jag - she did take him places like the airport occasionally, so she excused the petrol fairy, too.

But when the bill fairy visited her once because she'd accidentally left a pile of overdue bills on the table when he was over, she had let him know that she was not _at all_ happy with his visit, in no uncertain terms.

When she'd gotten a check in from her latest job, Kayla had searched all over for the stack of bills, but wasn't able to find it. That was not good. So she looked at the previous month's, called everyone to make a payment, and found out that she was already paid up and even ahead on some of them.

She was stunned - and livid, because she had a good idea who had come to her rescue. She was sure that he would see it that way, anyway.

She'd never been to his house uninvited before, but she didn't even think twice about it this time. She banged on his door, not giving a flying fuck if he was in the middle of trying to seduce some ingénue or finger fucking a pole dancer or whatever. He was going to have to put whoever she was on hold and deal with one very unhappy friend.

He was alone at eight on a Friday night - she was amazed, but didn't let it deter her or derail her righteous anger. Tom greeted her with outstretched arms but she had moved deliberately around them and into his flat to stand well out of reach, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"If you ever do that again, Thomas William Hiddleston, you will cease to be my friend," she said flatly. "And don't you even think about trying to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, you son of a bitch. I have never been so humiliated in all of my life. If I thought it could be reversed easily, I would make you do it. The invasion of my privacy was damned close to unforgivable." She had sworn to herself that she wasn't going to cry, but, as usual, that was a great idea, but not one that she was able to actually carry off, especially not in front of him. It was very upsetting to her to be mad at him - they never fought.

Tom took a step towards her, desperate to comfort her, arms still out wide, a plaintive look on his face, but she took a step back, her hands up to ward him off and, in the midst of her own misery, she missed the look of pain on his face when she rejected him so coldly.

His hands dropping to useless fists at his side that he clenched and unclenched nervously, he stood in front of her in an uncharacteristically narrow stance, legs together, as if he was at attention, somehow. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do anything but help you -"

Her starkly angry look - tears and all - made him quickly reconsider the tack he was taking.

He cleared his throat and tried again, aiming to make her feel how anguished he was at having hurt her rather than trying to assuage his own guilt. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to impugn your ability to take care of yourself in any way. I didn't think it through." He paused, then looked up into her eyes, seeing a lessening of her ire there, but a big increase in tears that, drop by drop, were like acid dissolving his heart while it still lay in his chest. "I'm very, very sorry, Kayla, really I am. Please forgive me." All he wanted in the world was to wrap his arms around her, to hug and hold her. If she would let him, he would apologize to her to his dying day. He just couldn't lose her, not over something he'd done that was so stupid and unthinking.

She was fiercely independent and he loved that about her, but he'd seen several disconnection notices in that pile and had let his sometimes boneheaded cautionary tendencies, that were always in full force when it came her, rule his head and had somehow lost sight of how important it was to her to do this on her own, ending up hurting her badly.

Ninety-nine percent of her wanted to forgive him on the spot, but that last one percent was all ego, and it had been very damaged, as had her trust in him. Privacy was a personal bugaboo for her, too, and he knew that. He _knew_ it, and yet he had gone ahead anyway and blithely done something he'd known she was going to be royally pissed about.

The more she'd thought about it, the less she even wanted to be in the same room with him just then, so she'd turned and left without another word.

He'd taken several steps towards her before she got to the door, but she hadn't acknowledged him in the least, and he would have sworn that the loneliest, most God awful sound he'd ever heard in his life was his door closing softly behind her and not really knowing whether he was ever going to see her again.

Several long, lonely unreturned text, unanswered phone calls, and unreplied to emails and days later, a check had arrived in the mail from her, in the exact amount that he had spent on her bills. And he'd cashed the motherfucker, too, not wanting to start that shit up again. He didn't need the money. She knew he didn't, but if it made her feel better to pay him back, then he was damned well going to accept it from her without so much as a peep.

The next day, he'd gotten a text from her and he felt his world go from black and white to color again in that instance.

You are a most extraordinary man, Thomas. I would love you more, though, if you don't have so fucking much money. Sorry to have gone off on you like that, my friend, when - as you said - all you were trying to do was to help me. It was a wonderful, generous impulse, really, and I'm sorry I'm not able to be more gracious about it, but don't ever fucking do that again. Please forgive me.

He thought about what he wanted to say in reply - something flowery and verbose, of course, apologizing to her again and reassuring her of his love. But instead he let his instincts have full reign for once.

 _Get the fuck over here and beg me, and maybe I will._

That rated an actual phone call. "You're a fucking _bastid_ , Thomas. It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever beg you for anything." He could hear the laughter in her voice as she said it.

"This from the woman who just said, and I quote 'you are a most extraordinary man, Thomas'?"

"Yeah, well, it's the fucking bastid in you that I love the most."

"You do?" Hearing her say that she loved him got him from semi- to rock hard instantaneously.

"I don't just love you; I adore you, hunny-bunny."

He gave her a very familiar, long suffering sigh. "You know I hate it when you call me that." That was an out and out lie. He loved it when she used any kind of endearment with him, even the more outrageous, sappy ones she insisted on using, mostly because he let her think they bothered him.

"I do. Annoying you is fun. There's no profit in it, but there's a helluva lot of satisfaction."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

" . . . Kayla?" Tom said for the third time, trying to snap her out of the reverie she had fallen into as she sat there on the couch, staring into space while he was standing right in front of her.

"Yes - sorry. Thinking of something else."

He sincerely hoped it wasn't some _one_ else, but there was no telling. Tom was always waiting and expecting to hear that she'd found someone, while he sat there on the sidelines, fervently praying it never happened.

He was holding a martini glass with her drink in it in one hand, along with something that looked like a wrapped present in his other hand.

"What's that?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's your present, but I'm not sure when I'm going to give it to you."

"You'd better fucking give it to me right now, if you want to live." He still - occasionally - gave her things, but he knew she wouldn't accept anything extravagant. After the bill paying incident, even the grocery and petrol fairies cooled it considerably, which was fine by her. He made up for it, she supposed, by driving her places and taking her out for dinner, or buying them groceries so that she could cook for them at home. She supposed it worked out to six to one, half dozen the other. But somehow she could reconcile things more easily when she didn't think that he was acting towards her as if he was her sugar daddy - especially when he had the audacity not to demand from her what a sugar daddy would in repayment - the excruciatingly polite fucker.

He smiled, sitting down in front of her to watch her unwrap it, loving how completely childish she was with a present. There was none of that mature, slow easing the paper off it so that it could be used again crap with his Kayla. The pretty paper he'd chosen for it - and wrapped it in himself - was shredded in seconds, and the - pretty pink - bow found its usual place of honor perched rakishly atop those charming new curls of hers.

When she opened the box, she found it was beautiful Fenton Art Glass vase; one she didn't have. She collected them casually, but leave it to Tom to notice something so obscure that she absolutely loved. "I found a flea market not too far from Toronto and found this there and thought of you. You don't have that one, do you?" he asked almost anxiously.

"No, I don't! Thank you so much, Tom! It's beautiful!" Kayla leaned towards him - not that he was usually ever very far away from her - and gave him another hug, reaching up when she pulled away to quickly kiss his cheek, and she would have simply moved away from him after that, but the arm that had been casually around her while they were hugging contracted just a bit, and he pointed at the exact spot on his cheek where she had just kissed him and made a clicking noise with his mouth, indicating demandingly that he needed another kiss.

He did this occasionally, and it always gave her mixed feelings. She loved kissing him - being close to him in any possible way, really. But, despite the fact that she knew she ought to be grateful that she could be near him at all, it was deeply unsatisfying, and just made her heart ache for so much more for him.

Tom was greedy. He wanted kisses from her and he'd stoop to anything to get them, even if this was kind of a desperate, low point. At least she never hesitated to do it. He wasn't too proud to take what little satisfaction he could get from her - not at all.

Kayla rose and went to put her present away, tucking it carefully back into the box and then into her valise, then coming back to sit with him on the couch. They always sat very close together, so that their sides were touching, her tailor fashioned, and him with his usual wide sprawl of his legs. She often teased him that he sat like a hooah, and originally he'd given her a quizzical look, not having heard that term before. She'd sighed. The man really needed to stay in more often and watch television, for Chrissakes. How did anyone who was sentient during the turn of the century _not_ know a _Sopranos_ reference when they heard it?

She could feel his warmth against her left side, his right leg crowding against her knee, her elbow digging his bicep so often that he put his arm along the top of the couch instead, in self defense, so that she was even closer to his side, tucked a bit against his shoulder.

The remote in her hands, Kayla turned to look at him suddenly. "Are you feeling peckish? I brought snacks."

As skinny as he was, the man had a voracious appetite, and his blatantly hopeful look at the mention of snacks had Kayla giggling. "What'd you bring?"

"A couple of bricks of cream cheese, enough Pace medium picante sauce to cover it and mozzarella for the top, as well as artisanal tortilla chips for dipping."

Now that was a whimper she didn't miss. She knew what his favorite of her snack recipes was, and this was it.

"Well . . . you did bring it, so I suppose we should eat it - wouldn't want it to go to waste or anything . . ." he rationalized, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

"No, instead it's going to waist," she corrected when she stood, although pulling out the waistband of her jeans had the kind of opposite visual affect from what she wanted because they hung off her. Tugging them up by the belt loops, she muttered on her way to the kitchen, "Jesus, these are my skinny jeans and they're wanting to live around my ankles."

At that he choked loudly on a sip of his Jameson, and she wasn't sure whether he was turning red from the coughing or her comment.

"And not in a _good_ way, either," she added with a grin.

His groan got her laughing. "When did you get to be such a prude, Thomas?" she asked, throwing the snack and its hot dip together quickly to return to the couch with everything in hand, including a big glass of diet Coke Zero that they would share. Everything ended up on his very expensive looking coffee table - with the appropriate coasters and hot mats, of course.

Deciding to ignore her comment, he took a small plate and dug in with an appreciative moan, although she didn't.

"Ready?" she asked. "You have to pay attention to this series - you really need a scorecard; there are so many characters, and you have to remember who is doing what to whom and why or it won't make a bit of sense."

"Okay." Kayla sat back against the couch until he reached out and drew her tight against his side again. She gave him a surprised look, and he said, "It's been months and months. I missed you."

"Aw, I missed you, too!" She tried to ignore what his closeness did to her, with the usual mixed results. Luckily, she found herself getting involved in the story, especially that of Daenerys and Kahl Drogo.

After she oohed and ahhed over Jamie Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, and practically orgasmed while sitting right next to him over Kahl Drogo, Tom had had about enough. "Is there any man in this program you're not hot for?" He knew he sounded much more annoyed than he'd intended, but he couldn't help it. He was having to keep the plate he was using discreetly in his lap so that she wouldn't see his swelling erection that was ever present whenever he was in the same room with her, but she was busy sighing and drooling over every man in the cast!

"Of course." She gave him a sideways glance; never remembering him sounding jealous before, but then she was probably imagining it. "But you have to admit that Jason Momoa is pretty damned fine looking."

Tom sighed. No, he didn't, he thought, but he kept quiet, not wanting to encourage her to talk.

They watched the first episode, and during the scene where Kahl Drogo took Daenerys for the first time, she began to squirm against him, which gave him even more problems.

"I forgot how cringe-worthy this scene is," Kayla muttered.

"I thought you were all worked up about this guy in particular?" he asked with an almost resentful tone he couldn't suppress. If this was the type of man she went for, he had no chance with her at all. He was not six-five, nor was he two hundred and forty pounds of sheer muscle mass. As much as he wanted to enjoy the series, watching it with her was making him miserable - none of the men that sent her tongue lolling out of her mouth every time they came on screen looked anything like him.

But he regretted his question as soon as he asked it. She didn't even seem to have heard it; she was so freaked out by the fact that the heroine was being forcibly taken from behind by the long haired, bearded man, and he didn't like the pinched, stressed look that had come over her face. "It seems like this is uncomfortable for you to watch," he said gently, keeping his eyes on her face, "why don't we fast forward." He wasn't really asking; he would have done anything to get that haunted look off of her face.

When they came to the end of the episode, she hopped up without any prompting from him and headed towards the kitchen to dish up dinner, leaving Tom feeling not just a little bereft, to say nothing about a little bit worried about her mental state. He waited as long as he could, alone in the living room, missing her and listening to her playlist - all songs that now reminded him of her whenever he heard them - then slowly ambled towards the kitchen to lean against the doorway to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes: watching her.

But what he saw amazed him. Icona Pop's _I Love It_ was playing, and he was floored to see her rocking out to it - she was _dancing_ , the little fart! She'd expressly told him - years ago when they'd met - that she didn't dance. He'd tried several times to get her to try it - to go out with him when he was going out with friends. He'd even offered to teach her, but from what he could see - and what was making him have to reach down frequently to adjust himself because of it - was that she didn't need to be taught a thing!

Unable to control himself this time, either, he snuck up behind her and popped her hard on her behind. Before she could even reach down to rub the sting away, he caught her in his arms, his hold binding hers to her sides. "You, my dear, are busted - big time. You are _dancing_. You _lied_ to me."

Kayla raised her chin defiantly, and Tom's heart - and cock - spasmed at how strong and confident she looked - and _so_ even more fucking gorgeous than ever to him because of it. He was so mesmerized by her that he almost missed what she was saying - almost. "I most certainly and carefully did _not_ lie to you, Thomas," not wanting him to distract her from the fact that she wanted to take him to task for smacking her again. " If you'll remember, I never said I _couldn't_ dance. I said I _don't_ dance. Semantics, my good man. Semantics."

He did see her catch her breath at the look he gave her, which let her know that he wasn't at all happy with her, regardless of the word game she had played with him. Holding her chin and using it to turn her head a bit away from him, he bent down and put his lips to her ear. "The next time I go out dancing, you are coming with me. And I won't take no for an answer," he growled.

The timer went off for the mac and cheese. "Let me go or dinner's going to be burned to a crisp."

He did release her, but before that he turned them around so that he was the one who was leaning up against the counter and delivered another, even sharper, swat to her already throbbing behind.

"Stop hitting me!" she yelled, more because she thought she ought to complain than that she resented his newfound familiarity, as she donned hot mitts to take the pan out of the oven. Damn, her butt stung badly from two swats delivered minutes apart with no ability to rub her behind!

Tom stood well out of her way, but continued to watch her avidly. She looked royally pissed, and he felt the need to clarify his stance - never wanting her to equate anything he did with how her husband had behaved towards her. "I hope it goes without saying that I would never hit you, Kayla."

He sounded downright worried about it. "I know." She had to love the huge smile that broke out across his face at her words. "But that doesn't mean you can spank me, either, you know. What the fuck's gotten into you?"

He didn't look sheepish or embarrassed in any way. He just kept looking down at her with what had deteriorated into a stupid - if she didn't know better she would have said love struck - grin. She wished she didn't already adore the feeling of that big palm connecting with her backside - she knew she should be taking him to task about it with much more ferocity, but she just couldn't find it in her to do so. Instead, she dismissed the situation entirely and set about dishing up dinner.

"Why don't you go into the living room and I'll bring it in to you?"

Now he was looking at her as if _she_ was going to be his dinner and Kayla automatically took a step back, which was the exact wrong thing to do. Even that small step triggered his prey instinct, and he covered the distance between them in two of his long strides, backing her up against the counter and trapping her there again.

Kayla was staring at her feet, which he didn't like, as if she felt intimidated by him, which was the last thing he wanted. He used his index finger, curled beneath her chin, to bring those beautiful eyes of hers to his. "Thank you for cooking for me, love," he whispered, and she thought that he was going to kiss her, but he moved his lips just before they reached hers to land a sloppy, loud kiss on her cheek. Then he sauntered away into the living room, leaving her standing there with a very sore bottom and very wet panties.

Her panties were so thoroughly moistened that she thought that she'd go change them and get into her pajamas before dinner. It also gave her the chance to frantically text Luke.

You fucker, did you tell him?!

 _Who him?_

Tom! Did you tell him?

 _Tell him what?_

AAUUGGHH! Don't be obtuse! You _know_ ABOUT WHAT!

. . . _LOL No, I did not, and my feelings are hurt that you think I would. I'm thinking that a batch of homemade biscuits is going to be necessary to assuage my tender feelings._

FFS, Luke. All right. I'm sorry. How'd he find out, then?!

 _He found out?! How do you know?_

It would seem so - my butt is downright sore - he's been smacking it like I'm a red-headed stepchild all night!

 _Well, you are a redhead . . ._

I hate you SO much, Luke.

 _Hate me all you want but_ _don't forget my biscuits!_

You won't like where I'm going to put them . . .

 _Well - I never!_

snort

 _Well, not usually, anyways._

LOL Love you. TTYL.

 _Good luck! Luv you too! Hope you wore something with paddling - did I just type that? Padding. I meant padding. Yeah. I meant it. Padding . . ._

Eventually, she brought two steaming bowls of homemade mac and cheese into the living room where she plopped down next to him, handing him a bowl and a spoon.

He rhapsodized over the food, but she was what he was thinking of. Her worn pink nightshirt and matching loose pants had bow ties all over and it was the least sexy set of pjs he'd ever seen, yet they might as well have come from Victoria's Secret as far as he was concerned. All his body could register was the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. The clingy knit material of the top revealed that - he could - and definitely did - watch the very gentle sway of her breasts as she moved, and it was more than obvious that her nipples were peaked, too. That had him swallowing hard and losing the entirety of his train of thought - whatever it had been before she'd reappeared like that.

Despite how distracted he was by her close presence practically plastered to his side, he still managed to eat two big bowls of dinner, although he noticed that she'd only eaten about a quarter as much as he had.

"Aren't you going to eat more?" he prompted, and Kayla gave him that not-so-patient look he was becoming all too familiar with.

"I'm not hungry, thank you," she replied primly.

Tom cleared his throat, wishing he didn't think she'd immediately drop him as a friend if he exhibited a bit more dominance towards her. He knew she needed to eat more, but he knew that she'd just tell him off if he said anything to her about it.

So he did his best to content himself with her presence next to him as they watched another episode. Kayla was going through his gin pretty quickly, and she didn't have much on her stomach to absorb the amount of alcohol she was consuming, so she ended up pretty drunk, her head tucked against his shoulder as he held her and watched the last of the episode.


	3. Chapter 3

She fell asleep on him - not that he objected at all - and he tried to put her to bed in her own room, but as he was getting her ready - which consisted of as little undressing as possible thanks to the fact that she had already put on that disreputable shirt and shed her bra. But now he was incredibly thankful that all he really had to do to get her ready was just take down her pants - because he knew she didn't like to sleep in them - which he did quick and efficiently, like ripping off a band aid, so that he didn't have a chance to really think about what he was doing, and then he tried to slip her under her covers. But, of course, she woke up in the middle of what should have been that short and sweet process and began to cling to him like a limpet, and absolutely refusing to let go of him and get into her own bed, and the more he tried to get her to do that, the more upset and teary eyed she became.

Tom didn't really want to fight with her - he was expending entirely too much energy just fighting his own baser urges - so he told her what he was going to do before he did it and drunk Kayla seemed quite happy with his decision. He took her hand and brought her to his room, putting her clothes on the chair by the door so that they would be there in the morning when she awoke, tucking her in carefully on the complete other side of his king sized bed from him, hoping against hope that that would keep him from reaching for her and doing things he had no right to do to her but that he was quite sure his body was going to be demanding, just based on the fact that she was in his bed with him. Then he found a pair of striped pajama bottoms at the bottom of his chest of drawers that he'd taken from the set from Archipelago and pulled them on. He usually slept in the nude, but he figured it was best for all concerned if he wore something.

When he got into bed, she immediately rolled towards him and glommed onto him, and Tom did his best to keep things as platonic as they could be, considering his aching, swollen erection naturally and continuously sought her warmth. She didn't seem to notice it pushing into her tummy, and as soon as he just gave up and gave in to the fact that tonight was going to be a torturous test of the limits of his self control and took her into his arms, she instantly fell asleep again with her head on his shoulder.

As he'd suspected was going to happen when he'd made that decision, sleep eluded him completely. He spent all of his time staring down at her, unable to keep himself from reaching out and touching her hair again, cupping her cheek and trying to ignore the way she was innocently curled within his arms was filling him with thoughts of wanting to wake her up and drive himself into her, his mind joining his evil body and wondering just how outraged she'd be if he actually did that - on a much gentler basis, of course - and feeling guilty that he was even thinking such things about his friend, not that that stopped him at all.

She woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom, which woke him from a very light almost sleep. He was just as happy to be awake so that he could keep an eye out for her, and reached to turn his bedside light on so that she could see her way around what was, pretty much, a room that was unfamiliar to her. Until tonight, he didn't think she'd been in his bedroom much at all, except perhaps on the initial tour he'd given her when she'd first come over. She came out of the bathroom and seemed to suddenly realize that they were sleeping together in the same bed, and that she was in her nightshirt and panties but nothing else and she kind of froze there.

Kayla stood there for a very long time trying to make sense of the scene; her mind still more than a bit befuddled by the alcohol, and when he didn't hear or see her making her way back to bed, Tom sat up on his side, leaning on his elbow and watching her. Her eyes skittered nervously to his then away - occasionally returning only to fly away again as if she thought he was mad at her or something.

Sensing that she was feeling kind of lost about what to do, he pulled back the covers and schooched a bit away from the edge of the bed so that she'd have room to join him - although not a lot; he was good, but he wasn't a saint. "Come back to bed, baby," he crooned softly, holding out his hand to her.

But she continued to stand there with an owlish look on her face, as if she couldn't decide what was the right thing to do. Thomas had absolutely no doubts about that, though, so he swung up into a sitting position, his calm eyes never leaving her, noting with concern now that he had a better look at her that she seemed to be shaking badly.

She fidgeted a bit as he got up and came towards her very slowly and deliberately, giving her all the time in the world to object, but she acted as if she didn't know how she felt about his approach, either. "Are you feeling any better, love?" Tom asked as he closed the gap between them, arms open to hug her should she make the decision herself that he was on the verge of making for her. Those fawn-like eyes continued to dart to his and away nervously, looking somewhat surprised each time at how close he was to her.

Gone was the usual bravado he expected from her, the fuck you attitude, stripped away by the effects of the alcohol she had consumed, how sleepy she still was and the stark reality she was facing about just how cozy they had been while she was pretty much soused out of her mind. Kayla nodded slowly to his question and he smiled warmly down at her, reaching out to cup her cheek in one big hand, those long fingers naturally delving into her sleep smushed curls. His voice sounded gentle and almost hypnotic to her ears as he spoke. "I don't know if you remember, but you fell asleep on me in the living room, and you insisted on sleeping with me rather than in your room when I tried to get you into -" that sounded crude even to his ears " - to put you to bed in your own room. I didn't see a problem with the solution I came up with - I hope you don't mind." But he didn't give her a chance to tell him whether she did or not before he continued, "Honey, you're trembling. You must be cold. Come back to bed with me and we'll get warm together under the covers."

She was shaking so hard it was a wonder she was able to stay upright, and he just couldn't stand to watch it one second longer. He didn't hesitate to swing her up in his arms for the very short trip back to his bed after stopping once to bump up the heat. Tom tucked Kayla under the sheet and joined her immediately, loving the way she waited for him to get settled then came into his welcoming arms as if they did this every night.

He was doing his damndest to be good - he really was - even though he knew that his arousal was again poking rudely into her the entire time he held her. She felt amazing in his arms and he knew he could get used to this very easily. Tom reached down and tugged the duvet up over the both of them and held her close, but even after long moments of cuddling, with him wrapped closely around her, her shaking wasn't abating in any way, although he was fair to broiling. He vowed he'd suffer heatstroke before he'd take the covers off them, though.

But in the next second, she did exactly that, throwing them back and kicking at them all the way off, as if she, too, was roasting.

He reached back down for them again, saying, "Kayla, honey, you're not going to get warm if you don't have the covers over you."

She shocked him to the core by saying, "I am warm." And as she said it, another shudder racked her body from top to bottom.

He may have been a smart man, but at times he was also quite dense. "But then why are you shaking so badly?"

"Because - " she began, her still somewhat gin soaked mind screaming at her to shut the fuck up, her perpetually frustrated, trembling body yelling easily over it that she should tell him how she was feeling and the real reason why she was shaking. "Because I just am," she finished lamely.

"Are you sick?" he asked, placing a hand on her forehead and then running the both of them down over her quickly, as if checking for an injury or fever, neither of which she seemed to have.

Kayla gritted her teeth at the feeling of his big hands all over her body. "No, please stop that. I'm not sick."

His hands roamed much more slowly back up, landing right where she didn't want them to, so that his palms were covering nipples that were so tight and hard they could have cut glass.

Tom was trying hard to understand what he was missing. She wasn't sick and she wasn't cold, and yet he could plainly feel those tight tips beneath hands that itched to explore them, and he could still feel her trembling, even more now, for some reason . . .

Then, all of a sudden, it hit him. He could hear her unsteady breathing and the occasional very, very soft moan she was obviously trying to suppress. He leaned away from her for just a second to turn the beside lamp back on so that he could see her face, stunned by the truth of his realization, but still he couldn't keep himself from asking out loud, doubtfully, "Kayla, do you want me?"

Something about his tone her struck her wrong - very wrong, as if he was incredulous at the idea that she might have thought that that was something he would want to do without having a knife to his throat. Maybe she was being overly sensitive, but that was the way she felt. She drew in a choked sob that sent another shockwave through his body and rolled away from him and off the bed before he could do anything about it because of his utter amazement at both situations - that she clearly did want him, and that somehow he'd fucked up letting her know that he wanted her, too, because she was currently doing her damndest to get away from him.

He quickly realized that if he didn't do something now, she was going to dart out the door and he'd be left in much the same situation he'd been when she'd been mad at him before - unintentionally in the dog house and not knowing if he'd ever see her again. And he was entirely unwilling to go through that again in any way.

On a sudden impulse, he allowed himself to follow his instincts with her, which he had this evening more than any other time they'd been together, and overall he thought she'd responded well - present predicament excepted. So he said what he wanted to say, how he most wanted to say it, as she was in the act of reaching down to gather her clothes from the occasional chair where he'd put them.

"Kayla, stop."

He was pleasantly surprised when it worked. She was in much the same position as she had been when she'd come out of the bathroom, only she didn't look in the least tentative as she had. She looked like a woman on a mission - a mission to bolt as far away from him as she could get and still stay in the country.

Again, Tom swung himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his feet naturally spread very wide on the carpet, hands clasped between them. "Come here to me, darling." Despite the endearment, there was no give in what he said. He wanted it to sound firm but loving, so that she would make the decision on her own to behave in the way he very much wanted her to.

He held his arms open, and he could see - and feel - those big eyes settle on him. He smiled gently. "Where do you think you're going to go, babygirl? It's the middle of the night. You can't possibly think that I'd let my best girl go out into the cold cruel night all by herself. You know me better than that." He allowed a slight scolding edge to that last bit and saw her shudder at it, feeling desire surge into every one of his pores at her response, but keeping a staunch hand on it. He kept his arms wide open in a blatant invitation, letting all of the love and protective feelings he had for her be plainly written on his face and in his body language. "Where are you always safest, Kayla?" he asked quietly, hoping she knew the answer without thinking about it.

When they had been friends for a while, a tipsy Kala had confided a bit to him about how her ex had treated her, and he had, with tears in his eyes, silently gathered her to him. She had put up what he knew was a token resistance, because she didn't feel as if she could trust much of anyone - especially a man - or even her own instincts about men enough to really trust him yet. But he had persisted simply by dint of the fact that he had held her to him, carefully and gently cradled in his arms, not hurting her in the least but also not allowing her to move away, saying in the quietest, softest tone he could muster as he let every one of his very alpha male tendencies come to the forefront, "I promise that you will always be safe with me, in every way - physically, emotionally . . . - always, and in all ways."

He knew she had no idea what to do with or about what he had just said to her, and for that reason he had simply kissed her on the forehead and loosened his arms around her, asking some sort of neutral question on a topic he knew she was interested in just so that she'd talk to him and not dwell on it, but he'd notice with a deep sense of satisfaction that she hadn't moved very far away from him when he'd let her go.

And, occasionally, especially when she was upset by something, he would repeat the lesson, until she came into his arms willingly, allowing him to hold her when she was upset, and coming, over the months and years, to realize that he meant exactly what he'd said.

"With you," he was glad to hear her whisper now - but he also caught how thready and unsure her usually robust voice was, and he could see she continued to tremble badly as she stood there, the bravado she'd shown when she was in the middle of trying to leave him having fled her at the realization that he wasn't just going to let her go, still too stubborn by far to either give in or collapse where she stood.

His warm smile, though, was absolutely genuine at her response. "Exactly, my love. You know I'll always keep you safe physically, and I know you know that I'll always keep your emotions safe with me, too, because before I'd never, ever hurt your heart, Kayla, I'd cut my own out and hand it to you first, because hurting you would result in exactly that anyway. Do you know that? I hope you can feel the truth of it from me. You don't ever have to be afraid of me." He had a sudden insight and added, "Or of yourself with me."

She showed no signs of moving, and he just kept talking, arms still out to her, hoping she'd see him as the safe harbor he always wanted to be for her. "I'm sorry if how my question came out didn't sound right to you; I was just very surprised. What I should have said is the truth of the fact that I can't even begin to believe that you want me."

She had nodded when he'd asked her if she knew he would never hurt her heart - as her ex had - but her eyes were on some point in the carpeting as she did it, until his last statement, which had her head rising until her eyes met his, seeking the truth of what he'd said - and thus how he felt - in them.

At that intimate admission he wanted to rush to her and twirl around with her in his arms, but he knew that that wouldn't be best for her at the moment. As much as he always wanted to inspire warm fuzzies in her, he had begun to realize over their time apart, because of some of their intimate discussions, that he not only wanted to be her lover, but that he wanted something even more from her than that - he wanted her to submit to him, too.

He had been very surprised to hear her confess, during one particularly frank exchange late at night, when they were both already tucked into their beds but were loathe to say goodbye, that she enjoyed reading fiction about women in submissive relationships.

"You mean like 'Fifty Shades of Grey'?" he asked, surprised and amazed to have heard her say, considering what he knew about her prior relationship.

"No. Most specifically not - that kind of thing is much too antiseptic for me. I like to read about relationships where the man adores the woman and just kind of helps her treat herself better - the way he wants her to be treated. The punishments are . . . well, still punishments, but they come from a place of love - and desire - but mostly love." He wasn't saying anything in response, so she blurted out nervously, wondering if she'd just committed the ultimate in t-m-i, "I suppose that's overly romantic -"

"No, I think that's pretty much how it should be."

Having realized that they'd just admitted to each other that they had the same sexual predilection, they moved on to a more generic, less intense topic then had said good night, each of them lying awake that night, mulling over what they'd learned about the other.

So he drew a deep breath and took an even bigger chance with what he said next. "Kayla, honey, if I have to come and get you to bring you back into my bed and into my arms where you belong, you're not much going to like what's going to happen after that, I can promise you."

Her eyes instantly fled his for more neutral ground again. Her lip was going to be bitten clean through, he worried, but his quietly chiding voice seemed to work when, only a few seconds later she began to drift towards him - not looking at him as she did so, but slowly putting one foot in front of the other until she stood at what he figured she had probably calculated was just slightly out of his reach.

But she was wrong about that. He had a long body and very long arms, and he easily reached out to wrap his fingers around her wrists as he saw her eyes go big with the realization that he had captured her so easily when she had thought she was safe - able to be close to him but stay just out of his range, as if she'd been startled by the fact that she had made the unwise choice to tease a tiger with his next meal.

The bed was so tall - and so was he - that they were nearly eye to eye - she was actually an inch or two taller than he was. If she'd been more herself, she would have lorded that over him, he was sure. But she wasn't quite herself right now, and he wasn't really sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing for him or for them.

"I'm sorry if you thought I was saying something that was against the idea of us making love." Kayla immediately tried to struggle away from him, her head down, looking defeated, but he refused to let go of her. Instead he stood, deliberately crowding her but not allowing her to move away from him by his tight but careful hold on her wrists, his big feet well apart, bracketing her much smaller ones as he folded her arms behind her back and leaned down to kiss her - the first time in all their years of knowing each other that he'd allowed himself to do anything even remotely like that.

Kayla had never felt so surrounded, so completely encompassed by anyone in her life. He was everywhere, it seemed, and she was drowning in all of the overwhelming sensations he wrought within her, any one of which truly could have sent her over the edge. He held her close with no way to escape him, plastering her body against his as his lips took hers, gently but firmly, that agile tongue of his easily slipping past her lips; her mouth blooming helplessly at his wordless command. Kayla couldn't even begin to process what was happening between them. This was her Tom - the one she adored as a friend - but this was him the man - there was no mistaking the way her breasts were pressed against the warmly naked, well-muscled lines of his hard body, the latent strength contained in the arms that held her captive there - not hurting her but not allowing her much freedom to move, either, as his mouth took hers and left her breathless in the throes of her body's wild response to his obvious passion.

The kiss ended very slowly; he continued to nibble at her lips, to trace them with his tongue as he pulled a bit away, reluctantly, as if he couldn't bear any distance between them at all. He still held her hands in his at the small of her back, but he slowly brought one of them around to their front - his front - releasing it only long enough to place her small palm on his still pajama covered maleness, easily overflowing it, a groaning growl escaping his lips that died into an urgent hiss as he dropped his own hand and she continued to cup him, his mind exploding with the fact that it was Kayla who was touching him like this, and even more so when he realized that she hadn't immediately reclaimed her hand.

Those small fingers slid around his tumescence, exploring him with a curiosity that was at once both somehow delightfully innocent and devastatingly arousing. The hand that still held hers at her back freed it in favor of splaying his fingers there so that he touched as much of her as he could at one time, that big hand sweeping tantalizingly up the curve of her back beneath the loose t-shirt, feeling how soft and perfect her skin was, taking in everything he could about her, pressing lightly to both mold her against him just that much more and as a casual reminder to her that, if she tried to bolt again, he would - and could - keep her there with him with very little effort.

But Kayla wasn't interested in bolting any longer. She was actively trying to get as close to him as she could without ending up standing behind him, adoring the feel of his hands on her, and of the baldly sexual, sensual presence of the part of him that was most male - most private - most intimate - in her hand.

Tom didn't think he could take much more of that, though, so he reached down and laced his fingers with hers again, twisting their two bodies as if it was a dance move so that they ended up on the bed together on their sides facing each other. As much as he could very easily have maneuvered it so that he ended up on top of her, he refused to risk doing anything that might scare her.

He knew that her ex had been somewhat abusive to her and he had been so happy to hear that she had found her way out of that relationship as quickly as possible. Although she always tried to be so tough and strong, he knew the softer side of her, too, and his heart had ached abominably when she had told him about what had gone on and how hard it had been for her to force herself to get away from that awful man. He had told her multiple times that he was proud that she had realized that she needed to and had done what she had to do to get away from him, all the while seething with the need to punch that man out - at the very least.

He knew that it had been a long while since she had had sex - that she hadn't trusted herself much after that disastrous involvement, and that she wasn't the type to go seeking just a physical hook up, anyway, and he respected that about her.

He was going to need to take it slowly, and he wanted her so badly that he wasn't at all sure that he was up to the task.

Tom turned away from her for a very quick second, and when he reached to pull her into his arms, he was naked and she shivered.

He pulled away a bit, looking down at her with concern written all over his face. "Are you afraid?"

Kayla shook her head, and it was the absolute truth. "No, I'm not. I know it's you, and I know what a good man you are, Tom."

He blushed but didn't want to interrupt her to try to deflect the compliment, as was his style.

"But I'm so nervous I think I'm going to faint."

He didn't say what a lot of men would have in that situation, questioning or criticizing her for her what she was feeling. He was thankful that she still felt she could share her emotions with him. Instead, he hugged her to him, letting his hands roam slowly, comfortingly over her - but deliberately claiming areas where he didn't usually touch her - the small of her back and her behind, the tops of her thighs just beneath that gorgeously ripe bottom of hers, then the tenor of his touch changed, becoming much more possessive on the return trip.

"What can I do to help you with that, lovely?"

She heard the sincerity in his voice, knowing because she could feel the heat and hardness of him pushing against her that he was suppressing his own needs in favor of seeing to hers, which was the kind of respectful and thoughtful treatment she'd come to expect from Tom. Kayla shook her head and came about as close as she could to a smile in this situation. "I don't think there's anything, really. You're already doing it just being you."

The very idea of it killed him, but he knew he had to ask. Both hands came up as he buried his fingers in her hair, cupping her cheeks in his palms. "Do you want to stop?"

"Do you want to?" she countered, searching those drop dead gorgeous eyes in the soft lamplight.

"Fuck no," he breathed immediately.

"Me, neither." Somehow her trembling slowly almost to a stop at that admission.

Tom brought his lips to hers in an excruciatingly gentle kiss. "But if I do anything wrong - anything you don't like, you have to promise to tell me, okay?"

Kayla nodded solemnly. "The same goes for you."

He grinned broadly and wolfishly. "I don't think there is such a thing as a way you could touch me that wouldn't set me off like a rocket, baby." His expression grew somewhat stern. "But if I find out later that I'm doing something you don't like and you haven't told me, I'm definitely going to spank you."

He had made that threat deliberately so that he could gage her reaction, and what a one it was. He felt her begin to tremble again, watched her eyes going wide, pupils dilating as her breathing became labored.

He knew he had his answer, and it was absolutely the one he wanted. His own nerves had gotten to him a bit, too, but as soon as he made that very basic realization about just how compatible they were, they went away, and he felt freer with her than he ever had. He no longer had to hide the fact that he wanted her. She wanted him, too!

As Tom held Kayla's bright eyes, he reached down to find the edge of her nightshirt, fingers slipping beneath it to trail up her sides, over those entirely too prominent ribs of hers to surprisingly generous breasts, which he forced himself to merely glide over in favor of removing the shirt entirely. Kayla sat up quickly and reached to do it herself, but her hands fell immediately to her sides at his warning "uh-uh". "Let me do it for you, sweetie," he whispered, threading each arm through its sleeve then placing those big hands into the neck of the garment to hold it open, guiding it over her head with as little disruption to her as possible.

Kayla's arms had crossed over her breasts automatically as the shirt came off. And he didn't comment on that defensive move but instead guided her back down onto the bed, so that they were stretched out on their sides again, in front of each other. Another soul-wrenchingly delicate kiss had her wanting to melt against him, her arms abandoning their posts and instead wrapping themselves around his neck. Firmly peaked bare breasts pressed against a hard, naked chest and each of them sighed at the same time, making them laugh at themselves and easing a lot of what tension remained between them.

"You're not quivering any more, babygirl. Are you feeling better?"

"Oh, I'm sorry - yes. Sorry."

He smiled down at her and teased. "No, honey, over-apologizing is my gig. Stop trying to horn in on it."

She loved him even more, that he could make her laugh now when they were intimate when, a few minutes ago, she would have sworn that she was seconds away from fainting dead away.

"Tom?" she asked, sounding terribly serious all of a sudden.

"Yes, my love?" he returned, matching her tone.

"Would you kiss me, please?"

One long finger rested against her jaw line as he rasped, "Mmmmm. Anything my princess pleases."

He kissed her so hotly, so thoroughly, that she was very nearly there already. He didn't just kiss her, although that would have been more than enough for her. He held her very tightly to him with a hard arm around her, low on her waist, keeping their hips together, his impressive self trying to find its way to her while his other hand began to carefully explore her. He left off the kiss so that he could apply his lips to even more interesting areas, licking and suckling gently down the slender column of her throat to her collar bone, exploring the dips and rises there. Then, as he deliberately caught her eye, he created a wet trail of kisses up the slope of one breast until those full lips of his closed around what he had sought - a taut, mauve nipple - nearly losing himself at her unbridled cry of lust as he began suckling strongly.

Kayla couldn't keep her body from moving against him, her hips rising and rolling mindlessly towards his, closed legs bumping up against his erection each time until she felt him carefully push her onto her back, one long leg trying to insinuate itself between hers, as against her other nipple which he was lightly razing it with his teeth, she heard him rasp, "Open your legs for me, baby. Let me in."

Although her mind wanted to pause a bit there - thinking with a start that this was somehow well past the point of no return - her body was in league with the devil and obeyed him immediately without consulting her brain in the least, probably afraid of what it might say.

As he found his place between her spread legs, he whispered with no small amount of guilt, "I don't think I can last very much longer, Kayla. I'm sorry."

The sincere regret in his husky voice made her heart contract. She wrapped her arms around him, tilting her hips in blatant invitation and leaning up to kiss him, biting playfully at his lips.

That was truly all Tom could stand. With his mouth slanted across hers, he notched the broad head of his cock against her entrance. He leaned on his elbows, framing her beautiful face with his forearms as he held her eyes and pressed his hips forward, not stopping but going slowly and watching her carefully for any signs of distress, although there were none. It was not necessarily how he would have preferred to have taken her the first time, but he retained enough self control to stop when he was buried as deeply as he could be within her, whispering against her lips, "Are you all right?"

Kayla nodded and opened her mouth beneath his. Tom felt as if his intellect had evaporated and his body had taken complete control, and it wanted to fuck her hard and fast, which is exactly what he ended up doing, plunging into her, stroke after stroke before - after a humiliatingly short amount of time, he was completely overwhelmed, much sooner than he wanted, and lost it entirely, bellowing out her name in helpless ecstasy, groaning at the spasms that shook him to the core, then collapsing down onto her, inches away from mindlessly drooling onto the pillow beside her.

Dead. This must be what it was like to be dead, was all he could think - it was truly, as the French said, la petite mort. His lips were tingling, his fingertips were slightly numb. He was definitely, embarrassingly, ignominiously dead, and lying carelessly strewn atop the woman he loved more than . . . pudding.

Or tennis.

Or even Shakespeare.

And that was saying a lot, especially when he knew for a fact that she hated Shakespeare, and had told him so on the occasion of their first meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hi, I'm Tom Hiddleston," he'd said to the woman who seemed to be standing a bit away from the rest of the group, who all knew each other already. She wasn't carrying very much luggage - nowhere near as much as the other women in the group, but she did have a cute little dog with her.

"Hi. I'm Kayla MacIntosh."

"Ah, you're American?"

With a conspiratorial look, she whispered, "Yes, but I don't usually admit it," knowing she didn't have to admit it - it became blatantly apparent every time she opened her mouth.

Laughing, he squatted down to pat the dog. "And who do we have here?"

"This is Atia."

He looked up at her sharply. "After the daughter of Caesar's sister Julia?"

She smiled, surprised that he'd understood the exact derivation of the dog's name. "Yes."

Luke had already seen to it that his things were taken care of, so he did the same for Kayla. She claimed a tiny room upstairs on the third floor that had originally been quarters for a servant, he imagined, and told her that. "You should take one of the bigger rooms on the second floor."

Another impish smile. "Well, since I'm the only po' person here, I think that it's appropriate, and I don't need much space anyway." With that she thanked him for bringing her things up and Tom had the feeling she wanted him to leave, so he did, although he didn't really want to. He found himself intrigued and he wanted to get to know her better.

He knew everyone there - it was a small group this time, only eight of them - four girls, two were part of couples - and four guys. They spent some time in the salon catching up, and then he happened to see Kayla coming down the stairs with the dog on a leash. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he felt compelled to be with her, and he excused himself to follow her.

"Are you taking the dog out?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's about that time for her."

"Do you mind if I tag along?"

She looked amazed at his question, then recovered quickly, deadpanning, "I'm sorry, Mr. Hiddleston, but these walks are just for dogs and owners. I'm sure you understand."

His eyebrows went up until she began to laugh. "I'm teasing - please. I'd love the company if you'd like to come." She stepped out the door without waiting for him, though, as if whether or not he came was of no consequence to her.

They set off down one of the walking paths, the dog tugging at her mistress's arm mercilessly, or running in circles around them until they found themselves bound up together, but she was laughing infectiously the entire time which got him laughing, too.

"Here, lemme give you the leash. I think that if you're going to walk with us, you should either dig a trench to walk in or handle the dog yourself, because I can't get the leash up and over your head when she starts running around us, so we're either going to end up tied together like this again and having to hop coordinatedly towards the house until someone finds us or I'm going to accidentally garrote you while trying to get the leash over your head."

When they were free again, he kept the leash and the dog behaved perfectly for him.

"Show off!" she said, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Damn dog behaves better for you than she does for me!"

He grinned unrepentantly. "She responds to a firm hand."

Kayla's mouth dried up like the Sahara at that. Not only was he fucking gorgeous, but then he said things like that that were designed to ruin her reproductive organs for any other man, she knew it.

They had a great walk together, talking non-stop and laughing a lot and learning a ton about each other and already deciding that they clicked nicely together, even in that short a time. But when they got back into the house, things seemed to be in an uproar of some sort.

Tom finally corralled Luke and asked what the problem was. "The cook can't come. We've no one to feed us."

Kayla sat down on the arm of one of the easy chairs and said quietly, "Well, I certainly know how to cook. I mean, it would be normal average fare, nothing gourmet in the least, but I was cooking for my family by the time I was nine or so."

All eyes settled on her and she looked amazingly uncomfortable for it.

"You'd be willing to cook for us?" everyone was asking, as if she'd volunteered to be the equivalent of a twenty first century non-virginal sacrifice.

"Sure."

Tom came to sit near her. "But this is your bank holiday weekend off, too. You shouldn't have to work."

She and Luke were the only ones chuckling at that statement, and Tom had no idea what he'd said that was so funny.

"I don't really work. I'm a code monkey. I work only when I need to. I have an excellent reputation, so when I do work - which is like, once a month - I'm able to demand top dollar. So I'm essentially on vacation three weeks out of every month."

"I withdraw my sympathy then," Tom said immediately, with a wink at her.

She swatted him again, a bit harder this time. "Fuck you, Thomas."

Everyone seemed to be pumped that they didn't have to go, and she was commissioned - and literally showered with money - with which to go shopping to get ingredients for whatever she wanted to cook. They gave her free reign.

Luke, being his usual helpful self, piped up with, "Someone should go with Kayla, to be donkey labor. Tom?"

Tom shrugged. "I'm happy to help in any way I can."

Kayla rolled her eyes at his depressing altruism. "Well, why don't we go now, then, and then we'll be set for the weekend?"

"Fine by me."

She stowed the dog in her crate upstairs and she followed him out to his car - a Jag. Kayla stared at it dubiously. "So, we'll each be able to buy, what, a pack of gum and the trunk of this thing will be full?"

He reached out and tugged a lock of red-gold hair. "This thing has reasonable trunk space, surprisingly."

She gave him a doubtful look but got in anyway, before he could open the door for her, but he was there to close it.

"You don't have to open doors for me or anything like that," she said when he got in.

"I know," he agreed, and they both knew he wasn't going to change his behavior.

They chatted amiably on the drive to the supermarket, bonding over movies, most particularly director Wes Anderson's movies.

"Have you seen _Moonrise Kingdom_?" she asked animatedly, and he decided already that he thoroughly enjoyed seeing her so openly passionate about what she loved.

"No, I've mostly seen his earlier work."

"Oh, man, you have got to see _Moonrise Kingdom_! But bring Kleenex. In fact, I have it on my laptop, and there's a Roku in the den - I could pipe it onto the TV sometime this weekend, if you want to watch it." She couldn't believe she'd just asked Tom Hiddleston to watch a movie with her - what was she, a dolt? Then she began to tap dance a bit away from what she'd said in embarrassment - as if this gorgeous man was going to want to spend his weekend off hanging around her. "You'll be too busy, though, I'm sure. Or I could copy it onto a jump drive and you could watch it at your leisure. But you have to go see his new one - _The Grand Budapest Hotel_ \- too. It was amazing. I love the way his movies make me feel - happy. Just plain happy. He celebrates quirkiness in people with such respect for the characters and all their various idiosyncrasies, and that's something of which I am definitely a fan - to say nothing of the palette he uses in his films - the colors are just . . . He's a fucking master."

Embarrassed again at having run off at the mouth so much, she muttered under her breath, "Excuse my French."

But he didn't seem to mind at all, running off a little himself about why he liked the director so much, many of his reasons in total agreement with hers.

When they got to the small supermarket, she was out of the car and practically to the door before he was - he had to sprint to keep up with her, making it to the door to pull it open for her just barely, but then she ran ahead and got the next door for him, bowing low as he walked by.

They had already decided that, since they were doing the work, that they were the ones who were going to set the menu for the weekend. He liked macaroni and cheese and _croque provencal_ , so they got ingredients for both of those meals. She liked a particular chicken dish and a pork chop dish, so they bought for those, too, as well as things for snacks and breakfasts. They figured everyone was on their own for lunch.

He was so much fun to be around, if she hadn't already had a bit of a crush on him from having investigated him on the internet once Luke told her who was coming on this little get together, she would have now. He was helpful and courteous and unfailingly kind to everyone he came in contact with - even several fans who stopped him on his way out as he was pushing the trolley.

She was just coming out of the store - having gone back to get ingredients for desserts, which she had forgotten all about - and saw him surrounded by people for whom he was signing autographs and with whom he was taking pictures - and went right back in. She waited before coming out again until she could see that he was safely ensconced in the car, which he drove right too the door for her as if he was her limousine service, getting out to help her load stuff into the trunk, then opening her door for her and offering a hand to help her in while she blushed furiously at the attention.

Her cooking was a hit; everyone loved what she made. Tom tried to be of help to her while she was in the kitchen, but she really wouldn't let him, but she did keep up a steady dialogue of one liners that had him laughing so much his stomach hurt.

When dinner was through that first night and everyone seemed to have scattered, he caught up with her on her way to take the dog out again, and asked if he could join her. "I'm not going on a walk this time, though. I'm just going to let her do her business, but you're always welcome to come out and be annoyed by me. It's a free service I offer to my friends and supposed loved ones."

That became his habit - he went out with them whenever they went out - and they talked and laughed and he found himself more attracted to her than he had been to any woman in a long time. But he got the feeling that she wasn't in the market for a relationship, and a chat with Luke confirmed that she was still trying to get over a pretty bad one, although Luke had also confided in him that he thought she was well beyond the point where she should have found someone else, he allowed that Kayla didn't seem to be willing to make any moves towards finding herself another man. They both agreed that she deserved someone extraordinary, although only Luke was thinking that Tom could very well be that person.

So he realized that he would probably have to settle for just being her friend, which he knew was going to kill him, but he wanted her in his life in whatever capacity he could get.

That night they watched _The Darjeeling Limited_ together, and at the end of it she handed him a tissue, knowing he was the kind of man who would need one and thinking all that much more of him for it, while she dabbed at her own eyes. That shared experience was how she had come to his nickname - Sweet lime, after the girl on the train who brought that beverage to Owen Wilson's character and his brothers.

Her relatively simple breakfast the next morning was devoured and highly praised, after which she and Tom took the dog for her morning constitutional.

They got to talking about education - about how much he had and how it helped him develop his love for the classics, Shakespeare in particular, and how little she had, possessing only a high school diploma, which had frankly surprised him because she had a pretty good vocabulary and was very articulate.

Just because she wanted to tease and provoke him a bit, Kayla said slyly, "So, let's play a game."

He looked dubious. "What game?"

"How about a new one I invented when Luke told me who was going to be coming to with us this weekend. It's called: How Blasphemous Can I Be to Tom Hiddleston and/or I'm Your Kryptonite."

That got him laughing. "This ought to be interesting. Go ahead."

"Okay, but get ready to unfriend me: I've seen all three movies and _don't_ like Loki. As a matter of fact, I don't think I ever even saw Loki the entire time - I was too busy drooling over Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans and Tony Stark and Mark Ruffalo . . . "

He snapped his head back dramatically as if she'd slapped him across the face.

She ticked the reasons she figured she was insulting him off on her fingers. "I _don't_ dance."

His head snapped violently in the other direction.

"I _don't_ like _either_ of your Jaguar commercials - in the first one you look like you have a terminal case of pink eye and in the second one you look smarmy at best."

Although he was chuckling at the terminal pink eye, he clutched his chest and stumbled a few steps, as if she'd shot him.

Then, for the coup de gras, she turned around to walk backwards in front of him and whispered loudly, "And, the most horrible, unforgivable sin of all . . . I _don't_ like Shakespeare."

He fell onto the grass, limbs splayed. "I'm dead."

Laughing, she stood over him. "Then why are you _telling_ me that you're dead? I have a sneaking suspicion that you're faking it." Kayla poked at him with the tip of her sneaker none too gently, then relented and leaned over him to offer her hand.

But he refused to take it, saying, "I think if you help me up, I'll overbalance you and you'll end up on the ground, too."

"Oh, heavens!" she looked appalled. "Not . . . _the ground_!"

He leapt up without any assistance from her, saying wryly, "Don't quit your day job."

That got him a sharp smack on the shoulder for his impudence.

"Fuck you, Thomas. And by the way, when we're together this weekend and, henceforth, if there is any, you are not in any way allowed to quote Shakespeare at me - nor any other poets, philosophers, playwrights, etc. If you want to rattle off another person's words at someone, I suggest you try Lisa.' She was the other single girl at the gathering. "I think she's fairly easily impressed and she's been looking at you like she's starving and you're filet mignon since we got here."

Tom was surprised to hear that and puzzled by her edicts. "Why don't you want me to quote other, smarter people?"

"Because I want to hear your _own_ words coming out of your mouth, not someone else's."

He was somewhat stunned by that.

Her eyebrow went up. "Not that I expect you to answer in rhyme, but have you never written poetry?"

"Bad poetry, yes."

"Oh my Gawd," she pretended great surprise, her hands on her hips as she gazed up at him. "Do you mean to tell me that there's something that the great fucking Tom Hiddleston is bad at - besides maths?" He made a lunge for her, but she ducked out of the way, knowing full well that she was only able to because he let her. "But you love reading and interpreting it. Surely there is poetry somewhere in your soul, Mr. Hiddleston?"

He really wasn't sure how to answer that, and few people ever left him speechless. He thought it was one of the most unusual and most completely arousing thing that had happened to him in a long while.

They had a wonderful weekend and became surprisingly close, but when it was time to say goodbye and go their separate ways late Sunday morning, he clutched her to him as if he would never let her go, almost dancing her around, although she was much too stiff in his arms to really pull off the effect. "I have your number and I'll call you and we'll get together - maybe some time this week."

Knowing she didn't believe a word he'd just uttered - that that was just something people said to each other when they parted - she hugged him back with all her might, wanting to drown in his arms right then and there. "Any time you feel like slumming, sweet lime, you call me."

He gave her a scolding look that had her melting into her panties until she stuck her tongue out at him and turned to get into her own car.

Luke got a hold of her via text while she was still driving home.

 _So, what did you think?_

The weekend? It was faboo! Thank you for inviting me to come along!

 _No, ditz, about Tom?_

LOL - what's not to like? He's smart, he's funny - he's too damned gorgeous and nice for the likes of li'l ole me . . .

 _. . . He liked you. A lot._

Kayla steadfastly refused to believe that he could like her as anything more than a friend, no matter how Luke tried encourage her in that direction.

 _He's going to call you. Soon_.

Sure he is.

He was kind of wrong about that, she thought and she was very pleasantly surprised, later that evening when she got a text from Tom, just asking if she'd gotten home ok - which she thought was so cute - and thanking her for cooking and telling her how much of a good time he had because she had been there.

Kayla was more flattered than she wanted to admit, although she tried not to be. He probably sent something like that to everyone at the party - she had a feeling that that would be very like him.

He did call her later that week, too, though, on a Wednesday, apologizing for asking so late in the week if she'd like to go out to a movie and maybe dinner with him?

"Get real, Tom. I have no life. And I'd love to - wanna see _Grand Budapest_?"

"You're ok seeing it again?"

She snorted indelicately. "Are you kidding? I would pay you to see it again."

He chuckled. "You don't have to pay me, but you _will_ have to pay them."

They had a fabulous time - she handed him a hankie at the end of the movie as she sensed a tradition starting and they sat there for a long moment together, just collecting themselves, him having taken her hand automatically to comfort her and Kayla practically fainting at the idea that she was holding hands with him. They went to a nice, casual place for dinner and talked themselves hoarse, laughing and occasionally tearing up at their exchanges.

They had been fast friends since then. Aside from his immediate family and Luke, she was probably the person he was closest to in the world, and the times he'd spent with her - however platonic - had created an abiding love for her within him that he was only just now really beginning to explore.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite how dead he felt, Tom forced himself to roll off Kayla and onto his back, reaching out to haul her against his side, not wanting to spend a second without feeling her naked skin against his. "Jus - Just give me a minute or two to . . . " he couldn't even _begin_ to finish the sentence. His whole being was numb at the same time it was still awash with the gentle, pulsating reminders of the mindblowing, ecstatic explosion he had just experienced.

Charmed by how this very verbal man had apparently been reduced to words of few or no syllables, Kayla hugged him, saying exactly what she shouldn't to a man who seemed incapable of recovering from his recent orgasm. "Relax. There's nothing you have to do at this moment except ride the wave of bliss. You should go to sleep while you're still feeling this way."

As much as he wanted to be completely selfish and do exactly as she was suggesting, Tom still managed to frown fiercely down at her. "I could hardly call myself a gentleman if I left you hanging, sweetheart. Just let me recover - a few minutes. That's all I need."

And then he did something he had never done in his entire life - his entire sexual life, that was. He let his eyelids flutter closed - just for a short while, he promised himself, just till he caught his second wind - and then he fell deeply asleep.

Kayla was far from insulted, as she knew some people would tell her she ought to feel. Instead, she felt a sense of pride that she had tuckered him out so completely. She allowed herself to spend a good long while watching him as he slept. His face looked even more angelic when in repose, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as her eyes took every detail of him in, from his cute Flock of Seagulls hair that was a direct result of the way she had been pulling at it while he'd fucked her, down over those broad shoulders, noting his tiny nipples and the baker's dozen clump of hairs on his breastbone between them, past his lean waist and around his beautiful butt - which she'd drooled over whenever she'd seen it on film, which was nowhere near enough - and down those fuck-you-standing-up-and-lift-you-off-the-ground-with-it legs of his, realizing as she saw the way his and hers were pressed together that his thigh bone was nearly as long as her entire leg! And his feet, too, were impossibly long and thing, almost abnormally so.

And she now knew what she had wondered all along about his long fingers and enormous feet were absolutely no lie. The way he had taken her had been thrilling, although she had had more than a few moments there when she had wondered if she was going to be able to take him, but she'd concentrated and forced herself to relax, to remember that this was Tom, that this was a moment she would have bet would never have happened in her life, and yet there it was.

She didn't care that her own pleasure wasn't as ripe and ready as his, despite how aroused she felt by the mere thought of him. She'd always taken a bit longer than most to actually ascend to it, and that had been a bone of contention for her husband - not that he'd tried very hard to help her get there anyway, though.

Kayla immediately pushed any thoughts of that man out of her head - how could she possibly think of that boor when she had such perfection lying right next to her? But she _had_ thought of him - had thought of the way he'd treated her, the names he'd called her, calling her frigid and a bad lay and much, much worse things as time went on. And, there, alone in the dark, she allowed his words and those horrible, soul destroying feelings to overwhelm her and do what she would have sworn could never have happened.

Some rude bastard was pounding on her door. Kayla pried one eye open to look up at the time display on her ceiling - one of the best gadget investments she'd ever made. It was six-fucking-fifty-four, for Chrissakes! Who the fuck was trying to break her door down before -

As soon as her feet hit the floor the events of the previous night came rushing back to her and she knew exactly who was relatively quietly going ape-shit in the hall.

"Open the fucking door, Kayla."

She could hear him from where she was in the bedroom, and he did _not_ sound happy. She began to hurriedly throwing something - anything - that resembled real clothes on, and settling for what she had that was clean - panties, jeans and a very old, holey Def Leppard t-shirt, plus an equally old bra. They may have been literally decades old, but they were some sort of armor, at least, and she had a feeling from the sound of it she was going to need all the defenses she could get once she let him in.

It was a good thing it was a bank holiday and no one in her building was rushing off to work past the crazed man in the hallway. Of course, that meant that they were all home in bed, trying to sleep late and he wasn't being much help there, either.

More pounding as she reluctantly made her way through her flat. "I'm not leaving, Kayla, and in a minute I'm just going to break the door down."

She had no doubt he meant exactly what he said. He didn't sound at all like the excruciatingly polite Thomas she'd thought she knew pretty well.

When the pounding started yet again, she yelled, "I'm coming, I'm coming, for fuck's sake, Thomas. Jesus. Whatever happened to -" When she finally opened the door, he nearly bowled her over, deliberately crowding her back into the apartment as if he thought she was going to try to run past him and out into the street to avoid him.

Kayla took several steps back, watching this new, somewhat aggressive Thomas warily as he closed the door behind him, turning to set the locks before facing her again, leaning back against the door with his hands behind him.

Tom could see how on edge she was and his heart sank into his shoes. Beyond the fact that they had made love last night and she had every right to be angry at him since he had been a selfish prick and had done the typical brainless, callus male thing of fucking her then just falling asleep without seeing to her needs - which was a first for him, one he heartily wished hadn't happened with her - but he hadn't expected her to just up and leave him like that, and yet she didn't seem angry at all - she seemed scared, and as far as he was concerned, that was a zillion times worse.

But he was here to set things right. He'd awakened only about twenty minutes ago to find she was gone - he'd searched his apartment, hoping against hope that she was out on the deck or something, but he'd seen that the things she'd brought over last night weren't where they were supposed to be.

And neither was she, his heart, mind and gut screamed at him.

Before he'd come fully awake and realized she'd left, when he was still really half a sleep, he'd remembered that she was there in the bed with him, and his mind had filled with images of what he was going to do to her, how his mouth was going to live between her legs until he'd exhausted her, and then he was going to make her cum a few more times while he fucked her, just for good measure.

He'd reached for her before he'd even opened his eyes, but his hands encountered nothing but cold sheets and the woeful realization that she'd been gone for a while.

And now she was standing there about twelve feet away from him, looking wary and nervous and ill at ease with him for no reason that he could fathom. Sure, he'd been an asshole last night and he fully expected her to upbraid him for it - he expected that - but surely he hadn't done anything to deserve her looking downright afraid of him. He couldn't have hurt her . . .

Tom muscled himself away from the door, taking two big steps towards her. He could see the panic flair in her eyes until she fought it down and that stopped his advance cold like nothing else could have. A muscle ticced in his jaw as he watched one small foot move just the slightest bit backwards until she ruthlessly force it back. He was finding it hard to breathe around the stabbing pain in his heart.

 _She was afraid of him_.

At a complete loss, he did what came naturally to him, what she seemed to respond to, opening his arms to her, saying as he swallowed back tears, rasping from deep in his throat, "I could really use a hug; I don't know about you." He was fully prepared to remain that way until she came to him - he didn't care if he had to spend the rest of his life standing there, just like that. He'd do whatever it took to get her to trust him again. In the end - although he'd like to know because he wanted to know everything about her - it didn't matter in the least to him what had made her fear him. He only knew that he would do everything within his power to earn her trust again and wipe that cautious look off her face.

Tom watched her worry her lower lip like he knew she did when she was feeling uncertain - and apparently, afraid, although he'd rarely seen that side of her. He could see the indecision in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest defensively, refusing to look him in the eye.

A sudden idea struck him, and he put his hands behind his back and smiled softly at her. Her eyes began to flit to his on occasion, and he wanted to make sure she saw that he wasn't in the least angry with her, despite the threats he'd made when there was a door between him. "Please come hug me, lovely. After last night I need your arms around me. I won't touch you if you don't want me to, I promise."

A deep yearning crossed her face before uncertainty took over again.

"Have I ever broken a promise to you?" he murmured, chin down as if he was scolding her just slightly.

Somewhat distractedly, Kayla shook her head slowly.

"No, I haven't and I never will." Tom cocked his head to one side. "Did something happen last night that made you scared after I fell asleep like the fucking bloody idiot that I am?"

He was rewarded with a small smile at his disparaging description of himself and felt as if he'd hung the moon. But then her face had clouded back over and she nodded.

Now for the question he wasn't at all sure he wanted to hear the answer to. "Was it something I did that made you scared, babygirl?" He held his breath as he waited for her reply, and blew it out in relief as she began to shake her head vehemently.

Now if he could only get her to move towards him.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and asked softly, "Where in the world are you always the most secure, my love?"

There was the slightest touch of reproach in his tone that had her eyes darting hesitantly to his.

"With you," came her tentative, whispered reply.

"That's right. I think you know that I would do _anything_ to keep you safe, Kayla - anything at all that I felt you needed."

The foot that had been advocating for her to back further away from him a few minutes ago took a cautious step forward, towards him instead, and he held himself quiet, as if he was trying to attract a nervous little bird to him, keeping his eyes on her, doing his best to radiate every bit of the intense love he felt for her through them - and hopefully the rest of his body language - to her, even though she still only looked up at him occasionally as she made her way slowly, carefully to stand in front of him, remaining a few steps away but leaning forward to press her forehead against his chest, then walking herself those last few steps so that she was pressed against him, small pink slippered feet tucked neatly into the wide expanse between his trainers.

As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, to crush her to him and kiss the breath out of her, he wasn't about to touch her until she decided she wanted him to, so his hands - that itched to reacquaint themselves with every bit of her - remained locked together behind his back, as if to prevent a stray finger from slipping down the sweet curve of her cheek, an impudent palm from cupping the back of her head as he kissed her, or altogether too formal hands from raising the backs of her precious ones to his lips.

Kayla looked up at his dear face as she reached behind him to tug his arms from behind him and into place around her waist, feeling them tighten immediately, lifting her mood immeasurably with their sure confidence, seeing the pinched, pained look she knew she had caused in him dissolve away from him as if it had never been Her own arms wrapped around his neck as she popped herself onto her tippy toes to kiss him almost chastely on the lips, then she leaned her weight fully against him as if she had suddenly just too much for her own frame to support.

Rather than hold her precariously against him, Tom instead lifted her into his arms and carried her into her bedroom, allowing himself a slight smile at its pink girlishness as he sat down against the headboard with her cradled tightly in his lap, one hand on her almost too slim hip and the other at the back of her neck as he kissed her again, this time with a careful preview of the passion he was holding back from her.

Then he tucked her head onto his shoulder, his fingers playing with hers where they had come to rest on his forearm as he gathered her as close as he physically could. "Can you tell me happened last night, my darling?"

She could hear what he didn't add to that question - "that was so bad it made you get up leave me in the middle of the night." More ashamed of her behavior than she'd been in a very long while, she shook her head, but even as she was doing so, she was struggling to find a way to tell him. This was Tom, after all, and she knew deep in her heart that he loved her dearly. Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it when she spoke. "I . . . I let him whisper in my head and . . . I let him make me believe the awful things he was saying - that he used to say to me all the time."

Tom's strong arms closed around her even more tightly as he whispered, "Can you tell me what those things were? I bet I can help dispel them if you'll trust me with them." He kissed her forehead gently. "And if you can't yet, that's fine, too. I understand completely."

Her whispered answers were broken and strewn with tears. "That I'm ugly and not - not satisfying in bed, and frigid . . . " she stopped, her throat clogging with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, babylove." Tom kissed her on the top of her golden red curls. He had suspected that it might have been something like that, but he couldn't be sure. All the way over there all he'd hoped was that it hadn't been something he'd done inadvertently - inwardly beating himself up for that very real possibility - but now he wondered if it might not have been better all around if that had been the problem. At least then he could have apologized profusely and set about making it up to her.

It was much more difficult to deal with the painful memories she dealt with on a daily basis, usually succeeding amazingly well at holding them at bay. If he hadn't been such a selfish git they probably wouldn't be in this position - no, they _definitely_ wouldn't have, because he would have been there to counter with something true and positive about her against the cruel lies that useless bastard had told her about herself and had her still half believing, sometimes, too, apparently.

So he was to blame, too. But at least he would do his best to set it right for her. After last night he wasn't about to let her go.

He looked down and tipped her chin up, wanting her to see the truth in his eyes as he spoke. "Well, you never have to listen to him again, you know. You can listen to me babble on about you instead, and I can dispel two things you mentioned immediately based on my own experience with you." When she would have turned her head away from him he refused to let her. "Look at me, Kayla. I'm not going to allow you to hide from the truth - _my_ truth, the _real_ truth- about you."

His tone was almost stern, and she swallowed hard, then obeyed him, however reluctantly. "The reason that I fell asleep so quickly and easily after we made love - and, just so you know that is not my habit at all, usually - was because you exhausted me completely. I thought I was dying; I had been so completely satisfied by you that I was so wiped out that I couldn't keep myself awake."

Her cheeks burned brightly at his compliments.

"So he's very wrong about one of those things. When you hear his voice again saying that, you remember how loudly I screamed last night, and what I just said. That'll help drown him out." He brought his lips to hers tenderly, then the tip of her nose and her forehead.

How had she not remembered that? she wondered. He had been quite loud in his pleasure, and that was a sure sign that he'd been aroused by her.

"And you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met - inside and out -" he began, only to stop at her loud snort of disbelief. "Do I need to take you over my lap to get you to believe what I say, young lady?"

It wasn't nervousness that that tone inspired in her - although she supposed it ought to have been - it was pure desire that settled right between her legs, and she could feel herself dripping onto her panties at it as she squirmed within the tight bonds of his arms. "No!" she almost yelled, appalled at the distinct note of pleading she couldn't seem to keep out of it.

"You know that I will tell you if I think you don't look as gorgeous as I think you can. Haven't I done that in the past for you?"

"Yes," she answered reluctantly. He had, indeed - never cruelly, but only in order that she would look her best.

"Because I never lie to you, right? Even if I don't think you're going to like what I'm going to say, I always say it, with the utmost love, because I care deeply," he swallowed hard on the words, " - very deeply - about you."

"I know."

"Good girl. I hope you do, because it's very true." He cupped the back of her head with his hand and tipped her lips to his, kissing her with quietly restrained passion, teasing her, biting gently at her lips to encourage them to open to him, not hesitating in the least to claim the new territory that she yielded to him, his tongue exploring deeply, dueling with hers, tickling her teeth and groaning when they razed him gently.

He pulled away and she tried to follow him, but he broke it off with a small smile, pressing his forehead to hers as he played with her fingers. "What was the last thing that sheer waste of humanity said to you that isn't at all true?" he asked, as if he didn't remember when he most definitely did. "That's right. He said you were frigid." Tom wasn't in the habit of snorting very often, but this time he issued a loud one that was worthy of her, making her laugh softly.

"How would you know, though?" she asked, looking up into his eyes with such trusting innocence that it took his breath away.

"Well, there are many ways to tell when woman is . . . interested, if a man is willing to take the time to learn what she finds the most arousing and then the particular signs his lover shows him. There are some women who will reach down and take his cock in her hand, but I don't think is really your style."

Kayla shook her head solemnly.

"No," he whispered, "despite how brave and brash you are out in the world, you're a much more subtle lover than that, aren't you? But we've barely been together once - well, really half of once, which I'll rectify shortly -" he felt the shiver his words sent cascading through her, but didn't let that stop him. "Like right now," his soft, seeking eyes met hers, and he could see how big her pupils were, nearly blacking out her irises, "I can see what you're feeling in your eyes, plain as day. You want me - oh, you're a little bit unsure, a bit tentative, kind of, about it but you feel that way because of me. I'm so touched and aroused to know that about you and it's strictly, only for me to see in those gorgeous eyes of yours."

Tom reached down, under her loose shirt, continuing to watch her eyes for any sign of alarm or fear he might inspire, but all he could see was the way her lips were slightly parted and hearing her breath hitch sharply as he moved the worn bra away from her breast, his fingers easily finding one generous, swollen bud.

Kayla's eyes tried to drift closed as her head lolled back, but he tsked a bit under his breath and she raised her head again.

"Don't look away from me, Kayla, my love. I want you to see that it's me whose arms are around you, keeping you safe on my lap. I want you to see my eyes as I touch you, because you'll be able to see how much I truly adore you, as well as my own desires rising in them - as they are right now just because you're so close to me." He leaned down and whispered, "Did you know that I get hard instantaneously every time I see you - even in the most inappropriate of situations? That I was rock hard every time we were together that entire first weekend?"

Her eyes opened wide at that admission, and at the stark truth of what she saw there, in the depths of those startling eyes, caused tears to fill her own. ""I want you to know that I'm the one who's touching you like this -" his fingers rasped gently over the very tip of her nipple, drawing a soft moan from her that went straight to his cock, which was already straining towards her.

Leaving his fingers where they were, Tom interrupted his train of thought just long enough to say, "I want you to take your shirt off, honey."

It was as much his voice - calm and gentle but quite firm, also, as if letting her know that there would be consequences she might not like if she decided not to obey him - as his words that prompted her to reach down and tug it up and over her head with only a minimum of reluctance. When her eyes met his again, he murmured softly, "The bra, too, please."

It was stupid that such a small item might cause her to balk - especially considering he'd already moved one cup in favor of his long, strong fingers, which still held that sensitive bit of her lightly captive. But she sat there, biting her lip, her hands remaining folded in her lap.

Tom was of a mind to prompt her again, but he also didn't want her to think that she could expect several chances to do as he asked, or that she could wait him out and he would relent.

It was a very easy thing, when she was in a position like this, to simply tug her over onto her tummy. She began to struggle immediately, but he already had a hold of one of her wrists and it was humiliatingly easy for him to capture the other one, too, clamping them together and holding them at the small of her back.

That seemed to put her into some kind of a tizzy and she nearly exhausted herself trying to get free. He calmly and carefully held her in place, not hurting her in the least, but not allowing her to go, either.

When he could plainly hear that she had begun to cry before he'd even touched her, he asked softly, "Are you crying because you're afraid of me, my sweet?"

She desperately wanted to tell him yes, that she was terrified of him and that he had to let her go this minute! But it would be a lie, and she wanted him to trust her. Besides, she wasn't in the habit of lying and didn't want to start now. The truth was that she just didn't want him to spank her, remembering how painful just the casual swats he'd given her yesterday had been.

Kayla sobbed and sighed in the same breath, whispering, "No, dammit."

He almost smiled at her sassiness, thoroughly glad that that wasn't the cause of her attempts to escape.

"Good, I hope that's because you know there's no reason to be. I think you know me well enough to realize that I would never hurt you in any way that would hurt your heart." With that, he shucked both her pants and her panties down to her knees in one swift motion, leaving them there where they would hinder her ability to move her legs. And without another second ticking by, he landed a crisp, hard smack to the generous crest of her bottom, thoroughly enjoying both the sound that his hand made when it connected with her surprisingly ample flesh and the strangled cry she gave at the sharp sting of it, not to mention the feel of the smooth, soft skin of her butt cheek beneath his palm.

He fell into a rhythm of distributing livid red imprints all over her backside, noting that, as she was very fair skinned, even the slightest swats left bright red reminders of the size of his hand against that which at first was very pale flesh He didn't give her too many swats, and none of them were that hard to take, he didn't think. His goal was not to beat her into submission, but just to remind her that he could and would back up what he said, and that he expected her to obey him when he asked her to do something because she trusted that he wouldn't ask her to do anything ridiculous or petty or that would be in the least detrimental to her.

Kayla was having a hard time coping with how thoroughly singed her skin felt every time his palm landed on it, and try as she might, she couldn't seem to find a way to either disrupt his arm so that the spank landed elsewhere or, failing that, to slip herself off his lap entirely. She couldn't even kick - and the impetus to do that had been there from the first mighty swat. She was horrified to realize that, after only about three or four solid smacks, tears were running down her face, and there was no way to control the desperate cries he wrung so easily from her.

When he stopped, he turned her over and slipped the bundle of pants and panties that had worked its way down to her ankles off them and onto the floor, then gathered her to him again, letting her cry it out on his shoulder until her breathing was much steadier and not filled with hiccoughing sobs. Loosening his hold on her so that she leaned away from him, he caught her moist eyes and asked, "Now, lovely, what was it that I asked you to do a moment ago?"

Pouting prettily and still snuffling a bit, she nonetheless did as she was asked, reaching around behind her to unhook the clasp of the bra, then shrugging it down her shoulders. "Good girl," he praised, taking the offending garment from her and tossing it to the floor, his fingers finding her nipple again immediately, causing her to gasp at his touch.

He was pleased, though, that as he began to pluck at her nipple, not pinching her in the least but just letting his fingers twist over it, grazing the pebble hard surface, that her eyes found his without him having to remind her to do so. "This is another sign that you're far from frigid." His other hand found its twin point and began to do the same thing to it, and he could hear how ragged her breathing became at that, and his smile reflected his true pleasure at her response.

When he leaned down a little to capture one of those tidbits with his lips, she rewarded him with a ragged moan, and he continued to tease and torment her for a long while, indulging himself in the beautiful sight of her unfettered flesh, the amazingly arousing feel of that taut bud against the insistent strokes of his eager tongue, and the sweet, lightly floral, deeply feminine scent of her.

Eventually, that head of yellow curls lifted and he smiled at her, kissing her passionately as his fingers began to travel down the center of her tummy, noting that, despite her generous behind, how truly thin she was and knowing that he was going to have to do something about that, but willing himself not to think about it right now. Instead he concentrated on Kayla and her responses to him. He sensed she was tensing up just a bit, could feel her shivering slightly under his fingertips - she must've guessed where his hand was going - but she didn't balk really, although her breathing became much quicker and more ragged than it had been, even immediately after when she was recovering from her spanking.

When he could have tried to force his hand between her closed legs, he opened to simply cover the entire area with it instead, as if he was staking a claim, his palm over her mons but just barely touching it. He eyes were startled wide, her lip being worried by her teeth, body stiff within his arms.

"Kayla?" softly, reverently.

"Yes, Tom?" equally so.

He lifted his chin a bit as she regarded him cautiously, his heavy gaze settling on her like another hand. "My love, I want you to open your legs for me."

The appendages in question instantly began to dance, bending and twisting, crossing and uncrossing, as if registering a protest at his edict. He never took his eyes off of her as she struggled, both with her own demons and his expectation of her.

Kayla's eyes wandered a bit from his, nervously looking down at her nude body, whose legs seemed to have a mind of their own, but then they drifted back up to his where they were well and truly caught by the raw, nakedly volatile combination of lust and love she found in his eyes, and the shivering stopped. The hand that had covered her most secret parts came up to her face, just the tip of his index finger beneath her chin lifting it for his kiss, and as his lips settled over hers her legs fell naturally apart, as if she saw in his eyes the absolute truth that she didn't need to defend herself against him - that all he wanted in this world was her happiness and whatever was best for her.

Feeling humbled when he ended the kiss, Tom buried his face near her ear, whispering brokenly, "Thank you, my darling. I will spend the rest of my days making sure that you never regret placing your trust - this most intimate trust in particular - in me."

As eager as he was to explore her there, he held himself fiercely in check, exploring the soft insides of her thighs, then her plump outer lips and less volatile areas at first, taming her to his hand, acquainting her with what it felt like to be touched intimately - and by him. He was no groping, fumbling teenager. He realized how delicate she was - especially there - especially now, when they were new. He knew that she had not so good memories from someone else and that she hadn't been this close to anyone else in a very long time and acted accordingly, his fingertips glossing worshipfully over her at first, barely acknowledging that distended bit of flesh at the top of her privates, gliding down instead to hover at her entrance and discovering more there than he'd ever dared hoped for.

" _This_ is the truest sign of all that you're not cold in bed - at least not with the right man," he rasped, barely able to get the words out through his own pulsating desires. "None of this luscious honey would be here, Kayla, if you weren't aroused by what I'm doing to you, and in a minute or two, I'm going to make sure you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're far from frigid, my love."

She colored prettily at his embarrassing words, trying to bury her face against his neck but he wouldn't let her. "No, I want to see you. I want to see your passion and your pleasure as I -" Tom cupped the back of her head in his free hand, removing her choice about whether or not she gazed into his eyes as he acquainted himself with her most private secrets. One slick, slim finger played around her opening, drenching itself in her butter, then began to insert itself inside her.

He remained very vigilant for any sign of discomfort from her, although there were none - there was only just what he'd been praying for - sudden sighs, soft moans and the occasional hitched breath, which had him pausing for a long moment. She was incredibly tight, so much so that he was having a hard time ignoring his own body's demands although he did his best to tamp them down. Once he'd seated his finger deeply within her, his cock began to throb almost unbearably, making him wonder what it would feel like to be in that finger's place.

When he began to move his hand she nearly came undone, even though all he was doing was simply dragging that one finger carefully in and out of her. Her small hand came up and grabbed at his shirt, finding no purchase there because it was so damned tight and landing on his forearm instead, as if she would try to pull him away from his delicious pursuit.

Tom stopped what he was doing immediately but did not withdraw. "Kayla, you cannot stop me - you couldn't even budge my arm no matter how hard you tried. Please wrap your arm around my back so that your hand won't be able to get you into trouble." She whimpered in protest, but his face was stern. "Why don't you put your other hand on my leg so it's out of the way, too." It wasn't a question. "Then you won't end up being punished again for interfering with me," he added softly.

As much as he didn't want to encourage her to whine or complain, he was almost glad that her usual strongly princessy self made a small appearance, causing her to mutter unintelligible bits under her breath, although she did do as he commanded.

As soon as her hands were where he wanted them to be, Tom removed his finger and trailed it slowly up to her clit, only it wasn't just his index finger that claimed that new territory. He lay three fingers over that taut bud, literally surrounding it with his flesh, almost as much as he would have if he'd pressed his mouth to her, the very thought making his mouth water. He was going to have to taste her, and soon!

He'd thought about doing that for her, but figured that he'd save it for another time. He thought she had all the intensity she could handle. For now, he wanted to return the favor she'd done him last night. He wanted to watch her implode in his arms.

But she surprised him by trying to cringe away from his touch, trying to twist or writhe his hand off of her.

"Stop immediately," came his firm but not angry command.

She froze, and he could see a bit of the fear he'd thought he'd eradicated completely hiding in the shadows of her eyes.

"Am I hurting you?"

Kayla shook her head - in fact it was the exact opposite and they both knew it - each of them could feel the way her clit was jumping beneath his sure touch.

"Then what is it, sweetie?"

Her face reddened to what looked like an uncomfortably hot flush that was reminiscent of her other cheeks, he realized. "I'm - I'm just - I don't want - " she sighed heavily. "You don't have to do this." She was looking down again, rather than at him.

As much as he wasn't sure he wanted to open this can of worms, he knew he needed to know. "Did he - was this something he wouldn't - or couldn't - do for you?"

Almost before he stopped talking, she blurted out, "He wouldn't do it - he said I was frigid because it took too long to -" She couldn't make herself say any more.

Tom's jaw clenched tightly, fit to break his teeth. He really was going to have to hunt that fucker down and kill him with his bare hands for what he'd done to his precious woman. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Kayla. I most certainly do have to do this - and I don't care if it takes until the end of the millennia. Lover has no expiration date; there are no time limits. I want you - I _need_ you - to feel the same things I felt last night when we made love. I could no more ignore your pleasure than I can allow you to run away from me." He took her chin between his index finger and thumb, saying with absolute sincerity, " _Your_ pleasure is _my_ pleasure - always will be. That's how it works."

He saw two tears trail down her cheeks and kissed them away as his fingers began to move deliberately up and over her, rasping themselves over that very sensitive button that was already tremendously swollen, he noticed.

And he knew that Kayla nearly came undone just at that first stroke, her hips arching towards rather than away from his fingers, pressing against them like a cat who enjoys being scratched on the head, a feral cry ripped from the back of her throat.

"That's perfect," he encouraged, his gaze soft on hers. "I've always wanted to know what kind of sounds you'd make as I pleasured you." He let his fingers swirl around her teasingly, not wanting this to be over too soon for her, but rather wanting her to experience every nuance, every shade of desire he could stir within her, although for someone who was as reluctant as she was, she seemed to be very responsive to everything he was doing to her. He gathered her a little closer to him, so that he could whisper into her ear as he gently flicked and rubbed her right where she needed him to, whether or not she was willing to admit it consciously.

He moved his hand a bit, so that it encompassed all of her lady bits. "This right here, every nook and cranny, every swollen peak, every hidden fold of this is _mine_. My fingers - not to mention my mouth and my cock - are going to be spending _a lot_ of time here. _I_ am the only person on this planet who can touch you like this. Even you are not allowed to do this to yourself. I alone am the arbiter of whether the cries you make are inspired by a thorough spanking or because my tongue has been swirling around your clit for the past four hours and you're getting downright desperate to cum."

She wished he would stop talking to her - he was making things thousands of millions of times worse with that I'm-gonna-fuck-you-silly, deep, dark chocolate voice of his. It might as well have been a fourth finger on her clit, making her pant harder and moan louder than she ever had in her life.

Tom made an educated guess that she wasn't far from her peak, growling into her ear, "You may cum, Kayla, and I want you to feel free to scream for me when it happens. Let yourself go for me. Trust me, my love. Relax into it. I'm going to make sure that a hundred million suns explode within you, but I'll be right here to make sure you're safe when it happens and forever after." He kissed her deeply, whispering against those soft lips as his eyes met hers, "Give me this gift, my love, and I will treasure it and you for the rest of my life."

That was it; that was what began the tight coiling of imminent ecstasy she could feel building deep within her, beneath those gently persistent fingertips of his, and when that first massive, involuntary spasm overtook every writhing, moaning bit of her, she did give him a full throated scream that quickly became plaintive whimpers as he refused to let her be content with just one tremendous culmination, but kept expertly stimulating her, watching avidly, eagerly learning every little thing about what she liked in her pleasure, determined to learn what would do it for her enough to bring her off a second time. He was so focused on her that it was not just a second but a third almost immediately afterwards, and then a fourth and final crest. Long moments later, he carefully withdrew his hand and gathered her up in his arms again, holding her trapped comfortably against his chest and swaying gently as she slowly began her glide back to Earth.

She remained limp in his arms for a very long time, so long that he lifted her head and forced her to open her eyes, seeing how cloudy and unfocused they were and knowing she still had barely begun to come down from it.

Kayla knew she should have been doing something, but she couldn't string two words together or move any part of herself if her life had depended on it. Somehow she found herself cuddled under the blankets with him, her head pressed to his shoulder, his long limbs holding her close, and she knew she'd never felt so secure in her life. All her normal worries - and even worrying about those rare occasions when she didn't have anything to worry about - were out of her reach, held at bay by this wonderful man who loved her despite herself.

"Tom?" she barely whispered.

"Yes, my baby?" he answered immediately, pressing a kiss to her damp temple.

"I - I - um . . . you . . . we . . ." She couldn't even begin to form a sentence, as much as she wanted to tell him how amazing that was, how grateful she was to him for doing that for her - even if it got her into trouble, which she had a feeling it might - and even to confess her love for him.

But none of those lovely thoughts would come out of her mouth. Instead, she reached up and twined her arms around his neck, burying her face against his warm, strong neck, holding him almost as tightly as he did her, and he could feel the dampness of her cheeks against his.

A small smile spread over his face even as his own tears joined hers, as he felt a tension he hadn't recalled feeling before seeped from his body, to be replaced by an unutterable happiness. "I understand completely, Kayla MacIntosh. And I love you, too."

As he held her and she drifted off to sleep, he whispered, "And now you know that that idiot was completely wrong about you, babygirl, and you never have to ever listen to him again, because if you should ever doubt yourself again, you are to remember this night. I know I will never, ever be able to forget it."


End file.
